


Night Addictions

by GoblinCatKC



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: 2007 Movie AU, Fantasma, Identity Porn, M/M, Nightwatcher, Turtlecest, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinCatKC/pseuds/GoblinCatKC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Successfully preventing an assassination against April, Leonardo has returned after four months away from home. At the same time, a new presence in the city is felt, a swift and invisible thief that Raphael discovers is almost impossible to catch. Almost. (TCEST)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of AU for the 2007 cgi film - I liked the Ghost and Nightwatcher ideas but abhorred the plot, so I'm stealing what I like and playing with those elements instead. I'm also using the 2012 lair design and the Mirage comics sensibility for violence.

Four months.

Raphael paced from the living room to the dojo, from the dojo to the living room. Arms crossed, frown permanently set, he scanned the entire lair. As usual for the past months, a steady supply of empty soda bottles and magazines covered the couches and rug, all centered around Michelangelo who lay across the floor, gazing up at the television as he played. At the far wall, a blue light glowed from under the door to Donatello's laboratory. And behind him, Splinter meditated or read in his room. Or perhaps slept, as he did more often now.

The dojo was still dark, had been dark for weeks on end. He and his brothers still trained with Splinter, but after practice, in the quiet hours of the evening, there was no low candle, no sense of presence, of someone's meditation—empty, silent, not even the familiar scent of smoke or incense lingering into the night.

"If you keep pacing," Michelangelo said from the floor, "I'm gonna drop tacks on the floor. Just fair warning."

"Pft." Raphael rolled his eyes, coming up behind the couch. "I'm surprised you looked up from that game long enough to notice."

Michelangelo smiled wanly, jerking the controller to one side.

"Didn't have to look up. You make a ton of noise."

"Whatever."

He watched his brother's game, a new one called _Tenshi Tsunami_ or something, flying a tornado of angels over a city and sweeping up criminals. So many white flashes pulsed on the screen that Raphael winced and looked away.

"How can you even watch that?" Raphael muttered.

"'Cause it's cool," Michelangelo said. The lights sparkled in his eyes as if he were hypnotized. "So pretty..."

"Knock it off. You're gonna go blind."

"Says you," Michelangelo said. "'Sides, you don't nag as bad as Leo."

At their brother's name, they both couldn't help but spare a glance at the payphone. A remnant from the lair's days as a subway station, the ancient phone could still make calls, but for the past four months, barely a handful of phone calls. For the past month, nothing.

Raphael shrugged, coming around his little brother and leaning over the tv.

"Ain't gotta nag," he said, poking at the power cord.

"Whoa whoa-!"

Gasping, Michelangelo scrambled to gather his legs under himself, one arm outstretched.

"Hey, no fair! What'd I ever do to you?"

"I ain't gotta nag," Raphael said. "But I know someone who hasn't pulled his weight at making dinner this week, and I'm willing to play dirty."

"You cheater!" Michelangelo fumbled at the controller and hit several buttons. "At least let me save! Midtown's the hardest part—"

Raphael let him finish, grinning as Michelangelo stood and stomped past him, muttering the whole way to the kitchen. The door slammed after him, and then came the sound of clinking plates and the stove clicking on.

Curious—was there anything worth sneaking off the stove?—Raphael turned the door handle and peeked through the crack. He saw Michelangelo move in and out of sight, from cupboard to cupboard, bringing out several pans. Then the rice container and curry seasoning, the chicken from the back of the fridge—

Michelangelo whipped around so fast that Raphael almost didn't spot the bag of flour flying at the door. He jolted away just as the door crashed shut.

"Mikey, you little psycho—!"

"You can wait just like everyone else!"

"Oh, you rotten—open this door!"

Raphael grabbed the handle and banged his fist on the door, rattling it on its hinges. The handle wouldn't turn, and he heard the stepping stool being placed up against it, holding it fast. Raphael gave it a final, sullen kick and backed off, glaring at the wood.

Behind him, he heard the familiar shuffling of his second brother and caught the constant whiff of coffee. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Donatello leaning against the wall, his eyes lined with dark circles.

"Would it be too much to ask," Donatello muttered, "if the two crazy people in the house could keep it down? Some of us have killer headaches."

"You wouldn't have a headache if you'd sleep once in awhile," Raphael said.

"I wish I could."

Donatello sighed and walked past him, knocking on the door. Inside the kitchen, something slid on the

floor, the door opened just enough that Michelangelo could slip through the coffee pot spout.

"Hey!" Raphael squawked. "No fair!"

Donatello's coffee was refilled in an instant, and he had the mug out just as Raphael lunged at the door, now suddenly locked again.

"How the hell do you know when it's him?" Raphael yelled at the kitchen.

"'Cause his knock doesn't sound like it's a big, dumb jackass," Michelangelo yelled back.

"I swear, whatever you're cooking better taste golden!"

"Like a cold, hard rock? Kinda weird, bro', but if that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

Raphael grumbled and turned away from the kitchen, head back to the main room and plopping down on the sofa. The video game was still on, a moody picture of an angel braced against hard winds in the background of the menu screen. Raphael sighed but didn't turn it off, content to listen to its soft harp strings as he shut his eyes.

"These are the days I really miss Leo," Donatello said, sitting on the couch next to him.

Nursing the mug in his hand, he held the warmth close, taking the tiniest sip as he waited for it to cool down. His shoulders drooped as he began to relax, settling into the cushions, and his head tilted to one side as he yawned.

"Loud arguments, play fights, screaming matches with the dumb games." Donatello sighed, talking with closed eyes. "What's a burgeoning mad scientist supposed to do for peace and quiet?"

"Leo and me argue," Raphael said, grimacing but refusing to look at him. "Worse'n me and Mikey."

"Don't we all know it," Donatello said. "But you aren't as loud. Mikey is a little banshee when he gets going."

From the kitchen came a yell. "Am not!"

Donatello and Raphael both turned their heads. "Shut up and cook—!"

The phone rang.

Everything in the lair stopped. Donatello's coffee froze in midair, liquid slowly sloshing over the side. Raphael's eyes widened as the sound registered. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. And from Splinter's room, the sound of a rushed breath like someone rising up out of meditation.

"Ouch!" Donatello hissed as the coffee hit his fingers.

He put his coffee on the floor, waving his scalded hand. Raphael jumped to his feet and skirted around the sofa toward the phone. The kitchen door slammed open and Michelangelo tore out, springboarding off the sofa and doing a somersault over his brother, shoving him to the floor while Michelangelo easily landed.

"Mikey, you little—!" Raphael growled as he stood.

"Moshi moshi!" Michelangelo said, dodging so that Raphael went flying past him. "This is the Mikey restaurant."

"...put on Donatello."

Michelangelo's eyes went wide, and he sucked down a huge gulp of air, a warning to anyone nearby.

"Oh my, my, our little runaway child is calling home! Are you okay? Have you eaten? Do you need bus fare? Clean underwear?"

"Mikey, I swear to God..."

"Now now, mummy dearest worries about her little one—"

Behind him, Donatello gave his shell a firm shove, throwing him across Raphael who was squashed back to the floor. As Michelangelo squawked indignantly, Donatello put the phone to his ear.

"—swear if you don't get Donatello, I am hanging up."

"Don't you dare," Donatello said, with just enough clip in his words that told his brother how upset he was. "You don't have to deal with his worrying, but we do. He's a hundred times worse when you're gone."

"Oh thank God." Leonardo sighed. "In a couple minutes, I wasn't going to have a choice about hanging up. I only have 'till the train starts."

"'Train'?" Donatello echoed. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Hitching a ride on a train coming out of Richmond," Leonardo said. "Probably be home early tomorrow morning."

Donatello sighed out all the tension he'd felt for a month. Behind him, both of his siblings fell silent, trying to hear the tinny sound of their brother on the line.

"Just be careful riding those things," Donatello said, not really worried. "The cables and lines over them in the city..."

"I'm in an empty boxcar," Leonardo said. "No worries."

"All the worries," Donatello countered. "'Till you get home. Seriously, what took you so long to call?"

"Would you believe it's been a running chase for the past three weeks?" Leonardo said. "It wasn't one of them, it was three of them."

"And you got all three?" Donatello asked.

"Got lucky. The last one doubled back so I was already heading home when I finally got him in Houston." Leonardo sighed heavily, a train whistle in the background. "But yeah, got 'em all. Any trouble on your end?"

"April'll be happy to hear that," Donatello said. "Nah, haven't heard anything. She's laying low at Casey's just to be safe, but..."

"But?" Leonardo prompted.

"I just wish I knew why someone would put a hit out on her." Donatello leaned against the wall, head down. "I mean, she just runs an antique place. Did she pick up something super secret, something dangerous?"

"I think that's more likely," Leonardo said. He hesitated, not sure how much to add, then winced as he felt the train cars begin to kick against each other. "Dammit. Gonna be too loud to talk here soon."

"What were you gonna say?" Donatello asked.

"I'll explain it later," Leonardo said, raising his voice as the engines ahead rumbled heavily. "She got a Mayan thing recently, right? Tell her to ditch it."

"'Mayan'?" Donatello tried to remember. "There was an Olmec rubber ball with a skull inside—"

"Whatever," Leonardo said. "Tell her to get rid of it quick and she should be fine."

"Okay!" Donatello said loudly, hoping his brother could still hear him. "See you when you get here!"

Leonardo's response was lost as the train wheels shrieked and began to roll. Donatello put the phone down on its receiver, looking up as someone coughed. Splinter stood in his doorway, one hand on his walking stick, as eager for information as Raphael and Michelangelo.

"He'll be here soon," Donatello said. "He's on a train in Richmond, Virginia. It'll probably take seven or eight hours with all the rain right now."

"What was that about an Olmec ball?" Splinter asked, coming close. "Is that related to the attempts on her life?"

"Leo seemed to think so," Donatello said. "He didn't get a chance to say why. The train started moving right then."

"Even if it is not," Splinter said, "best to take no chances. She should dispose of it immediately, and in a way that alerts her stalkers to its change of hands."

Donatello nodded. "I'll call her right now. She can probably put it up online and sell it quick. Heck, if she just dead drops it somewhere, she wouldn't even have to go out to mail it."

"Or we could drop it in a post office box for her," Michelangelo said, sitting up on his elbows which were planted firmly on Raphael's shell. "Right, sensei? So she isn't out all the money she put into getting it."

"That sounds acceptable," Splinter said. "Dinner first, then go. You can remove it from her store and be home in time to greet your brother."

"Woohoo!" Michelangelo fist pumped, driving the air out of Raphael. "Welcome home celebration! Leo's back and that calls for a party! And we'll get a pinata and pin the tail on the Raph, and—"

"Geddoffame!"

Raphael finally braced himself against the floor and pushed as hard as he could, flinging Michelangelo into the air. To his disgust, his little brother landed on his feet and ran back into the kitchen, locking it shut again.

"Donny?" Raphael muttered, still on the floor.

"Yes, Raph?" Donatello sipped his coffee calmly.

"Call April quick." He turned over, staring at the ceiling, the blurry lights reflecting off the pipes. "Maybe we'll get lucky and I can hit something."

Smiling, Donatello picked up the phone again, dialing April's number. As he did, his smile faded.

Leonardo only had one of their shellcells, which could only contact another shellcell. How had he made the call while on the train? Who's phone had he used?

* * *

In the train car, Leonardo hung up and turned the camera to face the crumpled body beside him. He took a quick photo and sent it to his account, then crunched the cell phone in his hand, tucking the ruined components back into the dead man's pocket. A killer from the Diablo Puerto cartel, the man lay canted against the corner, his head all but severed from Leonardo's sword strike. A little overenthusiastic with his cut—his sword had become stuck in the spine. After a chase of three weeks, though, Leonardo didn't begrudge himself that satisfaction of finally sinking his sword in.

Since the train was already out of the yard and moving down the tracks, he grabbed the body's shoulders and maneuvered him to the side of the car. Holding onto its leg, he tipped the body out of the car inch by inch until finally something caught underneath the train and ripped the body out of his hands.

At least four or five more trains would take this line before the night ended, probably more, and the body was surely crumpled up on the tracks now. By morning, the body would be unidentifiable, if anyone could make out that body on the tracks was human. After all, road kill was common.

The night was warm, promising rain. He sat back down in the far corner, watching the trees go by in a blur. If he drowsed, he could at least manage to stay on his feet until he got home. There was no way to actually sleep, though. He slept too lightly to be able to ignore the train's rumbling and he had to avoid humans during the frequent stops.

He stretched, arranging himself as comfortably as he could, and used his balled up scarf as a pillow. Held securely on his plastron, he opened the laptop he'd taken from his first kill and brought up the web forum he'd found, uploading the photo of the dead man. Leonardo was only posting as a guest, simply informing the other users of the site that he'd taken out three hit men, but even so, the response had been swift. No one else was taking the hit job on April O'Neil, and after his next post informing the group that the artifact would be going on sale online, the hit was removed from job pool.

"Cheap bastards," he muttered, typing as he spoke. "Next time just hire a thief."

He yawned, shutting down the site and closing the laptop. A strange thing, thieves being more valuable than hit men. He'd always thought it'd be the other way around.

The rain started, bringing a chill to the night air. He pulled out the scarf and unfurled it, wrapping the thick cloth around his shoulders and using the end as a hood. Warmer, and he'd worn it that way for months now. Nestling in the corner away from the wind, he listened to the droning of the tracks beneath him, relieved that he was finally heading home.

Home, which would bring its own dangers. As he had for the past four months, he wished he hadn't been forced to go off tracking hit men alone. Having even one of his brothers there would have curbed some of the bad habits he'd fallen into.

He smiled, curling into his scarf.

And had no intention of stopping.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Coordinating meetings could be impossible when the ones trying to meet were ninja. Humans could say they would meet up at some large, conspicuous landmark—a statue or tree that everyone could see. But "the shadowy alley" behind the "run down shop" made things more confusing than a meeting was worth. So Donatello brought his laptop into the living room to work and Michelangelo stayed up playing video games with Raphael, waiting for their brother to come home.

"Turn it down," Donatello whispered, pausing as he typed. "Master Splinter's trying to sleep."

Michelangelo reached one hand out and hit the remote, lowering the volume, then returned to the game. Beside him, Raphael nudged him hard, trying to throw him off balance.

"This game ain't fair," Raphael muttered. "How the hell you take your hand off the control and you're still beating me?"

"Pure skill," Michelangelo whispered, nudging him back. "I got the moves, aw yeah."

"It's called being a savant," Donatello said. "That's the only explanation."

They lapsed back into silence. Around them, the lair created sounds they normally didn't hear over their own ruckus. The pipes muffled a rush of water overhead, and Donatello's generators hummed in the corner, running the fans and air conditioning that kept the lair cool. The refrigerator kicked on and the water heater began rumbling its usual cycle.

"Yo," Michelangelo called out. "What time is it?"

"Five," Donatello said. "More or less."

"And when will Leo get here?"

"I told you, Mikey, I don't—"

The familiar sound of stone sliding on stone made them all stop. The only way in, a fake brick wall requiring that several bricks be pressed in the right order, warned them that someone was coming.

Michelangelo paused the game as Raphael stood, but Donatello was the one already heading to the door just as it opened. Tired, head slightly down, eyes dark, their brother walked in, nudging the door shut with his elbow.

"Thanks," Leonardo said, dropping a small messenger bag on the floor. "Didn't expect to see the lights on."

"You're home!"

Michelangelo leaped over the couch, raced up the steps and got to Leonardo just as Donatello did, sweeping them both up into a huge bear hug. Donatello bore it patiently as he held his brother, and Leonardo winced as Michelangelo pressed against bruises he didn't know about.

"What took you so long?" Michelangelo said. "Did you get me anything?"

"Sorry," Leonardo said with a tired smile. "One hitman turned into three. But yeah—here."

Michelangelo crowed as Leonardo gave him a handful of lollipops. Without looking, he popped one out of its wrapper and stuck it in his mouth.

"Sweet!"

He raced back to show Raphael, who glanced indulgently at the candies. And then broke into a grin.

"Bro'," Raphael snickered, "did you look at that before you ate it?"

His brow furrowing, Michelangelo looked down at the wrapper.

"Tequila scorpion candy?" He pulled out the lollipop and squinted at it. "Oh wow...check it out! There's a little scorpion dude inside! Cool!"

"So," Donatello said, walking with his brother to the kitchen. "Did you eat something on the way?"

"Yeah, actually," Leonardo said as he sat at the table. "We passed a few diners on the way here. But I'd kill for a real cup of tea before I crash."

"Coming right up," Donatello said. "And then you can tell us all about your road trip."

"Not much to tell," Leonardo said, nodding at Raphael as he joined them. "I had to chase the first guy all the way to Phoenix. He kept changing trains. I almost lost him twice."

"But you got him." Raphael twirled a seat backward and plopped down. "And then what?"

"He left his laptop open," Leonardo said. "I got to see his emails, and I found out that just killing off a hit man doesn't get rid of the hit. Plus I guess he'd called for help, 'cause that's when I had to deal with his partner."

"That was the sniper you told us about?" Raphael asked.

Leonardo motioned at a new scar on his shoulder that included a nick on his shell.

"Yeah. She left me that."

"Ooh, that looks like it stung," Raphael said, running his finger along the nick to make sure the shell wasn't cracking further. "And then?"

"Found the third guy starting out in El Paso. He started heading up on one track, then came back down to Houston. I finally tagged him in Richmond last night."

"He took that long to find?" Raphael asked. "You got the first two so quick."

"The first two were easy," Leonardo said. "I kinda stumbled on the second one. But I had to find the third guy, and then I had to keep up with him. That trick with changing trains? That one almost got me. It's hard as hell to follow someone when you can't really move during the day."

The tea kettle whistled. A moment later, Donatello brought out a tray of four cups with tea bags trailing strings off the side. Leonardo took his and pulled it close, sighing as he cupped his hands around it.

"Oh man..." He let his head fall slightly. "It's been nothing but cold rain all the way back."

Raphael put his hand on his brother's arm.

"You'll make morning practice, though, right?"

Leonardo glared at him, narrowing his eyes as Raphael snickered.

"No practice," came Splinter's voice from the living room. "We can all take the day off tomorrow...ah, today."

Leonardo started to rise, then relaxed as Splinter waved a hand, motioning him back down. With a long sigh of relief, Splinter sat at the table, flipping his tail out of the way as Michelangelo ran past them, grabbing a soda from the refrigerator.

"Sorry," Leonardo said. "I didn't mean to wake you—"

"That honor would go to Michelangelo," Splinter chuckled, "if I had been asleep. I am relieved to see you back home."

"It's nice to be back home," Leonardo said. "I'm sick of trains."

"At least you were not forced to stow away on an airplane," Splinter said. "Now to the reason why you left in the first place. You are certain that Miss O'Neil is safe?"

Leonardo nodded once. "Yes, master. The price on her head has been removed. Did she already sell that Mayan thing?"

"Olmec," Donatello corrected over his tea. "And yeah, she said that it was bought like two minutes after she put it up for sale. She even recorded herself boxing it up and then Mikey went and left it in a post office box."

"Good." Leonardo relaxed, really relaxed for the first time in months, and he finally tasted his tea. And blinked. Honey?

"I remembered," Donatello said with a knowing smile.

"Thanks," Leonardo said. "Haven't had anything decent for months, either."

"You up for breakfast?" Michelangelo said around a yawn, leaning in from the kitchen. "It's a bit early, but I could get it going."

"Nah." Leonardo shook his head, tilting his tea cup. "Gonna finish this, then head up to bed. And finally sleep."

"See," Raphael said, pointing his finger at him. "This is why you should've waited for me. Sucks when you don't have someone to stand watch at night."

"It does," Leonardo said. "I wish you had come. Maybe next time, if you keep up with me and get on the train before it leaves the station."

"Next time," Raphael said as he glared over his shoulder, "Mikey won't barrel into me and knock me flat on the platform. Right, Mikey?"

"Huh?" Michelangelo said from the kitchen. "I can't hear you. There's this obnoxious bug flying around in here drowning everything out."

"Excuse me," Raphael said, getting up for the kitchen. "I gotta go swat a bug."

A moment later, however, Raphael came back carting out Michelangelo piggyback, exchanging a long suffering sigh with the rest of the family as his little brother snored on his shell.

"Okay, it's past this monster's bed time," Raphael said. "And mine too, if I'm being honest. I'll see you in the morning, fearless."

"Yeah," Leonardo said. "Just make sure you put him down gently."

"I'll just chuck 'im," Raphael said as he walked by. "Make sure he lands on his head. Won't hit nothing important."

"I shall do likewise," Splinter said, rising. "Going to bed, I mean, not throwing Michelangelo. Do not feel you need to rise early, my son. You have more than earned a rest."

Leonardo ducked his head, glancing at the floor. "Thank you, master."

He was silent as Splinter left, waiting to hear the soft click of the door shutting before turning to Donatello.

"So what was up with the thing April had?" Leonardo asked in a quiet murmur. "Why'd someone want her killed over it?"

Donatello half-shrugged. "The antiquities collector's market can be cut throat. An Olmec rubber ball with a skull inside it? Rare as hell. I'm surprised that whoever hired out the hit didn't just hire a thief instead."

"I'm not surprised," Leonardo said. "'Least not anymore. Did you know that having something stolen is a lot more expensive than just killing the owner? Less work."

"Huh. Nasty."

Donatello glanced up toward Michelangelo's room to make sure Raphael wasn't coming back down, then one more time at Splinter's room. Once he was absolutely certain they were alone, he took another sip of tea.

"So, this laptop you mentioned," Donatello started.

"You didn't tell anyone," Leonardo whispered, eyes widening.

"Relax," Donatello said. "You said not to, and I haven't. Do you still have it?"

Leonardo rose and gathered his bag from the door where he had so casually dropped it. If he had protected it, Michelangelo would have hounded him like a puppy after dog treats, and Raphael would have been right on his heels. It had been a risk, leaving it alone like that, but the risk had paid off. He set the bag down on the table, about to draw it open, when Donatello covered his hand with his own.

"Not here," Donatello said. "My lab. Come on."

Leonardo hastily finished his tea and followed him, closing the door behind himself.

Donatello's laboratory was usually off limits to everyone, not because he had dangerous chemicals but because one wrong step could send an experiment tottering off a crowded bench or desk. Michelangelo had been banished long ago and now only dared peek his head in. Leonardo rarely set foot inside unless invited, and even then he used every sense to avoid accidentally knocking against something. Only Raphael moved in and out easily, and then just to reach the garage to work on his motorcycle.

Donatello swept away several tools into a toolbox and picked up a handful of notepads and folders, clearing a space that Leonardo realized as a workbench buried under a mountain of motor parts. As Donatello motioned to the empty spot, Leonardo pulled open his bag and set the laptop down.

"I changed the password to get into it," he said. "It's just 'open' right now."

"I'm surprised it let you use that," Donatello said, sitting down to the open screen. "Usually passwords have to fulfill certain requirements. How'd you manage to crack it?"

"I didn't have to." Leonardo stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. "I couldn't get into it after I killed the first guy, so I took it with me and then left it in the hotel room with the second one. She knew the password, and I took her out after I saw her enter it."

"Nice." Donatello turned and opened the bag, sliding his hand around inside until he found something at the bottom. "Here we go. This was plugged into it before, wasn't it?"

"That? Yeah." Leonardo watched him plug it into the side port, and suddenly a new screen popped up. "What is it?"

"This," Donatello grinned, "is what's called a dongle. It's a bit of hardware that you have to have in before it'll let you run anything, usually programs but this one looks like it leads to a randomized address. I'll have to look to be sure, but I'll bet anything this is a gateway into a deep site."

He looked up at his brother expectantly, only to be met with a confused head tilt.

"Right," Donatello said with a sigh. "Think of it this way. On the internet, there are websites way deep down where google can't find it. This lets me see one site and get in."

"Oh!" Leonardo leaned down to get a better look. "This was the site where I posted all the pictures of the dead guys so everyone backed off the hit."

Donatello looked at the messages his brother had left, grimacing at the photographs of the bodies. He recognized the first one from when they had chased him away from April. Compared to the one with the top of her head missing and the other with his head nearly off, the first one was easiest to recognize with a simple sword thrust through the heart.

"Doesn't look like they get many comments," Donatello said softly, scrolling through the site. "It's kinda like any old forum, except all the posts are about hired contracts."

"Not just killing," Leonardo said. "If you scroll up, there's other sections for jobs. Stealing, kidnapping, smuggling."

"A regular wretched hive of scum and villainy," Donatello said. "So this is how you knew they'd called off the hit?"

"Yup." Leonardo sighed and stood up, rotating a stiff shoulder. "I didn't know what to do with it, but I knew it was probably important, so..."

"You brought it to me." Donatello turned in his chair to face him. "I'll give this a look, see what there is to see. But only on one condition."

Leonardo rubbed at one eye, stifling a yawn. "Sure, whatever you want."

"How come you didn't want Mikey or Raph to see this? You made sure no one else even knows about it."

Leonardo looked down at the screen and the photos of the dead hit men. He didn't regret their deaths. April's life had been in danger over a stupid old ball and some collector was willing to kill for it. Leonardo had simply killed before they could. And yet...

"It's just." Leonardo said. "I mean, look at it. Killing in the heat of a fight is one thing, but then taking photos? I didn't want Mikey to see how..."

"Just how methodical big bro' is at killing?" Donatello said. He glanced back at the screen. "It really is kinda dirty, isn't it? When it's so businesslike."

"I wish at least one of you had come with me," Leonardo said, staring at the screen. "Raph was right. I should've waited for him to catch up."

"And let the bad guy get away?" Donatello said. "No. I just wish we'd been faster so you didn't have to go alone. I hated you not being here."

Leonardo sighed wearily but smiled through his exhaustion.

"I missed you," he whispered.

Donatello stood, holding his arm out so that Leonardo could step close, folding into his embrace. They stood together for a long moment, Leonardo tucking against Donatello's throat as his brother's hand swept up behind his shell, rubbing warm circles against the back of his neck.

"I missed this," Leonardo whispered.

"Same here," Donatello said, nuzzling his cheek. "Call more often next time."

"Sure."

Donatello smiled, satisfied at simply holding his brother again after four months separation. The new scar added another line to memorize and worry over, another time that his lightning brother hadn't moved fast enough. The feel of his sibling's breath on his neck, the sound of his soft breathing, made the worry finally slip away.

He chuckled. Breathing that was too regular and steady. Giving his brother a nudge, he forced him to stand straight again.

"You're gonna fall asleep on your feet," he said. "Go to bed."

"Yeah," Leonardo said, forcing himself to head out. "Didn't think I was that bad, but I guess the tea helped."

"And the pain killer I slipped into it," Donatello said. "You want me to join you later?"

"Sounds good." Leonardo stood in the doorway looking back at him. "I might not wake up, though."

"S'fine. I've missed you beside me."

"Same here."

Leonardo left him, heading to his room to find new sheets on his futon and the candle burning low. He smiled. Michelangelo liked to act out being a kind of Suzy Homemaker, but the little touches made it worthwhile. Glad he'd managed to bring home a souvenir for his little brother, he undid his belt and sheaths, letting his katana slip off for the first time in four months. His shell felt lighter as he collapsed into the futon, curling up with the pillow.

He drowsed at first, sleep coming slowly now that he was accustomed to resting lightly. After what felt like moments, the sheet and blanket were properly arranged on him and the light was blown out. The footsteps sounded like Raphael, but all of his senses felt blurred by then.

It seemed like he'd just closed his eyes when someone shifted into bed behind him, pressing close. An arm fell across his waist and a whisper sent him back to sleep.

Proper sleep. Now that his body felt someone close, he drifted into a deep slumber as he allowed himself to completely drop his guard. It was a vulnerability he couldn't allow himself out on his own, but in the arms of his brother, it came naturally, followed by fragmented dreams of trains, soft rain and tea.


	3. Chapter 3

Someone slid from behind him, smoothing the blanket again. Leonardo heard the soft clink of plates, the electric tones of a video game. He took a deep breath and drifted back to sleep, sensing through the haze that someone was beside him again, coaxing him to eat, sitting somewhere close.

When he woke, he was alone. He sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes, banishing dreams that were distorted memories of the last few weeks. His bag lay by his side, no doubt placed there by Donatello. Leonardo checked that his scarf was still inside, then stuffed the bag under his pillow. As he stood, he gathered his swords up and carried them in one hand.

"Mornin'," Michelangelo called from his game.

"Is it really?" Leonardo said as he headed straight to the bathroom.

"It's nine," Donatello said from the table, glancing at him from behind a technical manual. "P.M."

Leonardo waved him off as he went to take a long shower, washing away all the aches and pains of the long trip. The color of the water turned black as it flowed down the drain, miles of asphalt and steel and dust, with splashes of red here and there. He didn't bother cleaning off his mask, tossing it into the trash as he toweled off.

"Ah, the half naked and wet look," Donatello said as he came back, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You should wear it more often."

"I'll keep that in mind," Leonardo replied with a wry smile. "Did I miss anything while I was out?"

"Not much," Donatello said. "Got word from April that she got paid for the ball, and that is apparently that."

"Good." Leonardo put his arm out across the table and lay his head down. "So what was the big deal about that thing anyway?"

"It is an Olmec court ball," Donatello said, turning the page. "They used it to play a ritualized game of getting the ball through a stone hoop. Depending on who you ask, either the losers or the winners were sacrificed afterward."

"So...it's an ancient toy." Leonardo sighed. "Glad this was all for something cool and not lame or anything."

Donatello gave a small smile. "Well, there was a skull inside of this one."

Leonardo glanced up. "Really?"

"Yup. That's why it's so valuable. Very rare." Donatello shrugged, not mentioning that he'd told this to his brother, albeit when he was half asleep on his feet. "I didn't get to look at it before all of this, so who knows if there was anything else about it, but anyway. It's gone. Are you hungry?"

"...no." Leonardo sat straight. "I think I ate earlier?"

"Yup!" Michelangelo called from the living room. "Ramen noodles, mushroom flavor. Food of the gods!"

"Thanks," Leonardo called back. "I must've been dead. I barely remember it."

He sighed and stared at the ceiling. "Although I'm gonna have to do a few extra practices to work that off."

"It won't kill you to have more than .5 body fat," Donatello said, giving him a pointed look. "And I'm sure you didn't eat regularly on the road?"

Leonardo half shrugged. "I survived."

"Not the point."

"I know, I know. I get it." He turned in his seat, scanning what he could see of the lair. "Where's Raph?"

"Left before you woke up," Donatello said. "Guess he wanted to avoid the lecture."

"I've been gone for four months," Leonardo said. "I'm sure he went out more often than that."

"Mm, it's not the going out part he was worried about," Donatello said.

He didn't elaborate. Even Michelangelo kept mum, whistling innocently.

Leonardo opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it. If they weren't going to tell him, there was no point trying to ask. He'd find out eventually. It was no accident that Raphael had left after Splinter had gone to sleep. Their master noticed less as he aged, but if it wasn't bad enough for Donatello and Michelangelo to worry, then Leonardo would try not to, either. He had enough to worry about for now.

"Then I think I'll steal something out of the fridge and head back to sleep," Leonardo said. "Wake me if Raph comes home beat up more than usual."

"See you in the morning," Donatello said, not looking up from his reading.

The refrigerator was a wasteland of junk food and leftovers. Starkly reminded that he hadn't been home for four months, Leonardo moved soda and beer from side to side, hoping to reveal bottled water, boxed fruits, vegetables...anything not wrapped in plastic. Huffing, he grabbed a zero calorie soda and leftover pizza slices. On a whim, he opened the freezer and found a nightmare of microwave mini-pizzas.

"I am so getting groceries tomorrow," he muttered.

"We need coffee," Donatello called out.

"And more Pizza Pouches!" Michelangelo said.

Shuddering, Leonardo escaped back to his room, flopping down on his futon and pulling his bag out. He pushed aside the wallets he'd collected and found the small satchel he'd come to prefer, putting it over his shoulder. Then he brought out the long scarf he'd kept stuffed at the very bottom.

Unfurling it, he swept it over his shoulders and pulled the makeshift hood low. The cloth hung off his left side, leaving his right arm nearly free as the long end fell over his right shoulder without any clasp. Perfect in case it was grabbed in a fight, it also fell to his knees, as long as a cloak and masking the line of his body. Out of sight, no one would even know he was there.

He heard Donatello leave his cup in the sink and disappear back into his lab. Leonardo listened closely, catching the sound of his little brother still playing his game, but the sound was stuck on a loop. When he crept to the doorway, he spotted Michelangelo asleep on the floor, the "game over" screen showing an angel falling into darkness.

Leonardo slipped out of the lair, using the sound of his brother's game to mask the sound of their door. Then he was racing through the underground tunnels, emerging from the nearest culvert. His breaths came quick to his own ears, and he made himself stop and calm down before leaving the concrete tunnel.

Away from the big streets and crowded venues, New York at night was a city of burnished gold. Streetlamps glowed a pale yellow that dotted the streets, burnt out stars that flickered unsteadily as lone cars quietly hummed by. Painted marks on the pavement became little more than strange lines following the edge of the sidewalk, as if the entire ground had rippled and then frozen. And pushing up out of the sidewalks, tall buildings that drew his eye toward the drifting clouds, boxing him in between walls that pressed like a prison.

The window sills gave him a ladder up to the rooftops, out of the cage of stone and steel, running along the top so that he could see all the roads and paths beneath him, stretching out in straight lines that ran into the darkness, out to the ocean beyond. The air stifled below, vented hot from the underground, but the higher he went, the cooler the breeze and the stronger the scent of salt water. Finally he stood high enough that he could see the bridges dotting the river, a black current that occasionally reflected back golden ribbons of light.

He breathed out, leaning one foot up on the roof ledge.

"168 Grand Street," he whispered to himself. "Sixth floor, river view."

Up here, the night air became electric. Surrounded by nothing and everything all at once, he felt the air like crackling static, the breeze like sharp shocks that lifted his cloak as he raced over the rooftops. He crossed gaping drops between buildings eight and nine stories deep without pause or hesitation. At intersections, he skirted along the side of the fire escapes or rain pipes, ran across the traffic lights like balance beams and then darted back up the handholds of weather-worn bricks and masonry.

New York was a playground, all in gold and dark shadow, and he made his way almost effortlessly to his target.

He came to rest across the street from the loft apartment above gray condos that he never would have guessed was home to very wealthy art collectors.

The apartment's rough layout was still in his memory, easily found with a real estate search online. He watched the people inside move about, going through the motions of putting away their day to day things and going to bed. The kitchen, the master bedroom, the long hall...he oriented the apartment's layout and the way he was facing.

"If I had something really valuable," he murmured to himself, "I wouldn't want anyone to see it from the street. But I wouldn't hide it away, either..."

The master bedroom. And if it wasn't, he could spare a few minutes to search. No one would see him. No one would ever know he'd been there. He tapped his fingertips on the ledge, willing the people inside to hurry up and get to bed.

Finally the apartment went dark. He forced himself to wait another fifteen minutes, then leaped across the intersection, climbing up the wall and holding himself on the thin ledge wrapping around the whole building. The ledge was so thin that he could only rest on one knee, his other leg dangling as he hung onto the bricks with one hand. He cupped his free hand against the window and peered inside.

Nothing. No lights, not even the glow of a television or phone.

He looked up along the edge of the glass. No wires, but that didn't mean there was no security system. And even if there wasn't...he leaned to one side and spotted the locks on either side of the frame, holding the window in place. He would have to cut his way through.

With his free hand, he drew his sword and set the edge against the glass. His jaw set in focus. This would have been a lot easier if he didn't have to hang off the side in the first place.

Luck was with him. Down the street, a cab with worn brakes came closer, screeching the whole way as it came up behind another, slower car. It masked the sound of slicing through glass. Making four quick cuts, Leonardo had to swiftly sheathe his blade and reach in to catch the glass square, all in one motion, before it could fall and shatter. Drawing it out carefully, he set it on the ledge and crawled in.

The apartment, all alien to him, barely resembled the floor plan. He scanned everything around him, trying to make sense of the shapes hidden in murky grays and dark black spots, and then began crawling low across the floor. If someone had to get up for any reason, he could dart behind the kitchen island or what looked like a long couch.

But no one woke up. No one seemed to have heard him. He quietly moved down the hall, passing the bathroom, a small room with a doll braced against the door like a guard. The door to the master bedroom was only half shut, and he paused a second before heading in.

Thin moonlight fell from the skylight, filtered through dust, and through the sheer curtains on the window, falling on the two sleeping people in the bed.

One shifted, sighing. Leonardo froze. As they settled again, he looked around the room. Now where—?

There. On the far wall, a row of glass cases filled a long shelf, each one sheltering a single book. With his goal in sight, he took one last glance around the room to make sure they were asleep, that he was alone, that his hood was drawn down and the cloak securely around his shoulders.

One by one, he read the titles.

_Birds of America,_ Audobon.

_Second Folio,_ Shakespeare.

__Geographia Cosmographia__ _,_ Ptolemy—

Was the glass case wired? No. Locked? Yes, but with a small, antique looking thing, there solely for looks and the satisfaction of using an old brass key to turn the lock. Easily picked, it made no sound as it clicked open. He lifted the case, took the book from the stand—

Ah. So it was the _stand_ that was wired.

As the high pitched alarm suddenly blared, the people in the bed jumbled together, too startled to react. Someone screamed "un fantasma! Fantasma!" as Leonardo turned, bringing the book with him in one hand as he leaped.

In a spray of glass, the skylight shattered, spilling shards off his cloak as he rolled onto the roof. Behind him, a steel shutter sprang over the skylight, slicing off a piece of his scarf. He grimaced. He would have been trapped if he'd hesitated even a second.

He was already leaping to the next building, then the next, ducking behind a large air conditioner unit. Even though he hated to spend precious seconds that he could have been running, he forced himself to pause and carefully wrap the book in cloth and tuck it into his satchel. He tied his satchel shut, adjusted it against his hip.

The police lights caught his attention, red and blue flashing down the street as they wailed. Lights came on across the neighborhood. He watched people come to their windows and out on the sidewalk, heard the same voice jabbering "la ventana! El fantasma saltó por la ventana!" and "mi libro, mi libro!"

He breathed out a deep sigh.

"Tell ya what," came a familiar voice. "Drop whatever it is you took and I won't smash your teeth out."

His eyes opened wide. Whipping around, he crouched and raised his left arm, hiding himself with his cloak. His hood fell just enough that the armored figure in front of him wouldn't see his shadowed face.

So this was what Raphael had been doing. No wonder no one wanted to tell him. As imposing as a tank, the armor gleamed in the moonlight, all silver edges and matte black finish. The helmet came to a wide angle with a broad visor, giving his brother good range of vision without sacrificing defense. Two obvious buckles over his plastron kept the heavier pieces, the pauldrons and side guards, in place. The gauntlets—

Leonardo winced. Those knuckles would break bone if they connected.

"What, going for the mysterious silent guy shtick?"

Beneath the armor, Raphael turned slightly, shifting his weight to his back leg. Leonardo hissed in a breath. He knew his brother's moves—

He dodged the first punch and rolled under the second, sprinting across the roof. He could not afford a fight. He could not afford to be seen. If Raphael saw him—if he even recognized Leonardo's style...

At the edge of the roof, he leaped into the open air before he even knew what he would land on. Behind him, Raphael cursed but he didn't try to follow as Leonardo landed in a tree, scraped himself dropping through the branches to the sidewalk. Leonardo kept sprinting across the street, using precious time to race up a painted fire escape and get back on a roof top. Heedless that he was running on the ledges, inches from falling off, he moved faster than he thought he could have, driven by fear.

A rumbling engine made his heart sink. Over his shoulder, he spotted Raphael a block away straddling his motorcycle, kicking back the stand and charging after him.

"Okay, that's not fair," Leonardo grumbled, leaping another gap.

Where to go, where to go? He hadn't thought about an escape route before. He wouldn't make that mistake again, but now he needed to come up with a plan on the fly. He had Raphael chasing below, and if he tried to head left or right, his brother would no doubt spot him—

An idea struck.

Raphael would go wherever Leonardo led him.

Reaching Chinatown was not an easy run, but up high as he was, he covered ground more easily than Raphael, who had to thread his way through traffic and pedestrians. Even the leaps across streets came more readily as Leonardo angled his run, choosing where to jump. Soon he was pulling away, three blocks ahead of Raphael, and he finally landed where the lights were crimson and orange and the roads were too narrow for Raphael to charge through.

Here the rooftops were close together and filled with walls and access doors and clotheslines. Leonardo picked his way across, moving in and out of deep shadow and slowing so that he could catch his breath. Now he just had to wait. Raphael would look for him, give up and—

"There you are!"

Leonardo stumbled left as Raphael vaulted a low wall, nearly putting his fist through Leonardo's chest.

"Dammit—quit running, you little coward!"

Cleaving to the darkness, Leonardo winced as his brother's punch cracked the wall far too close to his head. Even if this had been a real fight, he wouldn't have faced Raphael, not in that armor. Better to dodge, breeze by and hide behind his cloak.

The chase went on another two rooftops before Leonardo realized that Raphael hadn't hit him. Come close, sure, but actually landing anything? His brother was just too slow, all strength and heavy steel. Leonardo turned, lightly stepping backward, twisting left around a punch, then right, flowing as if he were a bit of paper blown by the wind. Raphael grunted, swinging with all his might, and every punch swished by harmlessly.

Leonardo couldn't laugh, forced himself not to laugh, but something of his delight must have shown in his movements, in his breathing.

"Are you laughing at me, you little punk!"

Raphael charged, arms out, and Leonardo jumped and stepped over him, sending Raphael crashing into a clothesline even as Leonardo climbed into the air.

Like flying, Leonardo thought. Flying over the city.

When Raphael untangled himself and stood up, he looked across the expanse of apartments, searching for any shadow that moved, any blur of motion that didn't fit in.

Stone crumbled underfoot. Raphael looked up and spotted the dark swirl of a cape in the night wind, the hint of eyes glaring out from under the hood. Like a ghost, somehow his target had gone up the side of a nearly sheer wall, clinging to the underside of a glowing red sign.

"You lousy...son of a...Get down here and fight!"

Fighting for each breath, Raphael slammed his fist into the wall in frustration, knocking off another bit of brick. He'd chased that ghost so far across town, only to have him waiting around like Raphael was a toy to be played with.

The shadow watched him for another moment, then let go of the sign and vanished over the side.

Raphael sighed and sat down hard, yanking off his helmet as he growled to himself.

Nightwatcher, it seemed, had a rival.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

Racing to beat Raphael home, Leonardo slipped in as quietly as he could. There were tricks to making the door open more stealthily—lifting instead of pushing, holding so that the bricks didn't scrape so loud. He made sure no one was awake or watching and then ran to his room, his cape already stowed in his satchel.

"Did you get it?"

Startled, Leonardo stopped so abruptly that his foot slipped, sending him falling on his side. Groaning as he sat up, he found Donatello sitting crosslegged on his futon, typing furiously on the laptop Leonardo had given him.

"What?" Leonardo said.

"You're already on the news."

Donatello turned the screen so that Leonardo could see the updated news feed of police at the scene and the hasty sketch the victim had drawn, a caped figure leaping over the bed. From within a shadowy hood, two glowing eyes glared out at the screen.

"They won't say what was stolen, but judging from the contract you had bookmarked..."

Donatello smiled knowingly, changing tabs to show the contract job on the stolen book.

"Did you get it?"

Leonardo stared at him for a moment, bit his lip nervously. Then he reached into his satchel and withdrew the book, handing it over. Donatello took it in both hands, gently pulling back the cloth and gazing at the cover. A scent of old pages and ink slipped out as he revealed the worn brown leather, the brass plates secured at the four corners.

"Wow..."

Donatello didn't move for a long time, simply holding the book in his lap. He didn't open it or turn any pages, content to simply hold it. Leonardo wondered what was in the book that his brother seemed so satisfied to hold.

"We can keep it in my lab for now," he said. "I already have the dehumidifier going. Then we can box it up and send it off."

Leonardo breathed out, sitting up and facing his brother with wide eyes.

"You won't..."

"Tell on you?" Donatello's eyes narrowed even as he smiled. "Oh please, give me some credit. I wouldn't do that to you. When you walked in here...I haven't seen you smile like that in ages."

Leonardo lowered his head, glancing sideways. When Donatello waved him close, Leonardo came to sit beside him, leaning against his shoulder. Donatello covered the book and handed it back so it could be hidden in the satchel again.

"Could've told me what Raph is doing at night," Leonardo complained without any heat to his voice.

"Oh, did you meet Nightwatcher?" Donatello laughed, nudging him hard. "Scary costume, huh? Took us forever to get it done."

"You helped him?"

"Of course. I wanted my lab back. He was taking up a whole corner with it." Donatello waved his hand at him. "Don't worry. I definitely won't tell him about you. He made me promise not to rat him out, after all."

Donatello chuckled once.

"Funny, he's the one who went all Batman. I guess that would make you..."

His voice trailed off as he thought better of it, seeing the darkening look in Leonardo's eyes.

"Whatever, whatever. But..." Donatello's smile broadened again. "What were you planning on using the money for?"

"The money?" Leonardo's mind blanked. Donatello had to motion at the screen before he remembered. "Oh, right. For stealing it. Honestly? I wasn't thinking about it."

Donatello frowned. "Then why'd you steal it?"

Leonardo paused. How to explain everything he'd felt, the lift in the air as he ran across the city, his city, and plucked what he wanted? That no one could stop him from taking? The close calls, the dark skies and golden lights sparkling like stars, and the sea salt air crackling like lightning.

That feeling when he took the prize and escaped at the last possible second. Like he'd cut an invisible string from himself and he was as intangible as the shadow trailing after him.

"I get it," Donatello said, watching his eyes grow distant. "You're turning into a thrill junkie."

"It wasn't the thrill," Leonardo insisted.

He shook his head as he tried to put the feeling into words.

"Just that I could do it. I haven't felt alive like that. I'm always watching over my shoulder, watching my next step. I never just...let loose."

Donatello stared at him, studying him closely. Leonardo returned his look, worried by what his brother might find. Donatello seemed to know exactly what he was thinking most of the time, reading his face like a book or manual. It made sense, the engineer puzzling out little details to make a big picture, and Leonardo found that he could never keep anything from his sibling.

It was how Donatello had guessed he could steal his first kiss, after all.

With a faint smile, Donatello brought his hand up, touching his brother's face and sweeping his thumb under Leonardo's eye.

"I think I get it," he said after a moment. "This is what took you so long in Houston, isn't it?"

Leonardo closed his eyes, but not in shame or guilt. He simply couldn't label the emotion. He should have been completely focused on killing his targets, but there had been a pull, a draw to what he was doing. All alone, no family, no backup. Just him and the wind.

"Not just Houston. I didn't have to lead anyone. It was just me. It was so..." He sighed and cut himself off. "That's what I meant, that I wish one of you had come with me. At least one of you. I wouldn't have..."

"Wouldn't have had so much fun?"

Donatello smiled indulgently, softening his teasing as he leaned close, kissing the corner of his eye. Eyes shut with a growing smile, Leonardo nodded once.

"We always said you should cut loose sometimes," Donatello said. "Figures. When you break the rules, you always do it pretty spectacularly. Just try not to fall on your face this time."

Like storming out of the house against his master's orders, or letting his fighting with Raphael escalate as badly as it did sometimes. As Michelangelo liked to remind him, there wasn't just one drama queen in the family.

"Gotcha."

"Good." Donatello uncrossed his legs and stood. "And after we send off this little delight, we can figure out how you're going to help me ship in some cryogenics gear, plus some other stuff I'm gonna save up for."

Cryogenics? Leonardo stared in bewilderment.

"It's hard getting all the parts for the things I want to make," Donatello said. "You'll get a hundred thousand for the Cosmographia. That's more than enough to cover smuggling those things in. I already saw the supplier page in the smuggling forum."

Leonardo couldn't help a chuckle. "And you say I'm going bad? You're going to turn into a mad scientist."

In the doorway, Donatello grinned over his shoulder. "I've always been a mad scientist. It's just now I'll have the funds to really go nuts."

* * *

It became a game—go out, run from Raphael, then come home before he did. Sometimes Leonardo stole. Often he didn't. Usually when Donatello said he needed money for something else. His brother seemed to have something big in mind, picking out any sizable contract that Leonardo said he felt confident that he could pull off.

"But Leo, it's a five million dollar contract."

"I'm not stealing the Damascus room," Leonardo sighed, stretched out on Donatello's bed while his brother scrolled through the site. "It's a _room_ , with walls and everything. That doesn't fit in the satchel."

"The Met's security isn't that great," Donatello insisted. "Sure, it'll take a few hours to pull most of the paneling, but with some good planning—"

"Nothing that doesn't fit inside the satchel."

Leonardo crawled up beside him, closing that tab and then kissing him to take his mind off of it. When they separated again, Leonardo lay against his side, fitting comfortably on his shoulder. He nuzzled against his collar, trying to entice him away from the laptop.

"Then how about this jade necklace from the Zhou dynasty...?" Donatello said, switching tabs.

Leonardo groaned and flopped back on the pillow.

On the nights that Leonardo did go out and steal something, he played with fire by trying to find the Nightwatcher. Sometimes it took an hour or more to find Raphael, and sometimes he gave up entirely, spending long nights walking through Central Park simply because the grass and open sky were a nice change from the concrete and steel. And if Raphael did find him, the trees and bridges and greenery provided more than enough cover to escape.

As long as he avoided Nightwatcher on his way home, the Fantasma could pretend to be asleep when Raphael arrived, waking up to a play by play of their chase at breakfast.

"I know he's playing with me!" Raphael slammed his fist on the table, rattling his cereal and pancakes.

Across from him, Leonardo winced over his sweet tea, ignoring his brother in favor of reading the newspaper. Apparently Raphael decided that Leonardo could be trusted to keep his nightwatching quiet from Splinter. If their sensei had been awake, no doubt Raphael would be silently seething over his multi-colored cereal. Maybe Donatello had mentioned to him that Leonardo knew and wouldn't say anything? Either way, Raphael didn't act like he expected a scolding from his big brother.

"Now now," Donatello said, scrolling through the news on his laptop. "He's probably more afraid of you than you are of him."

"I ain't afraid of nobody!" Raphael growled, fiercely picking out the marshmallows in his cereal.

"Of course," Donatello said.

"So why do you think he's playing with you?" Michelangelo asked, mouth half full of syrup and pancakes. "He keeps running away."

"Exactly," Raphael said. "I know he's out looking for me. Downtown ain't that small."

"If you're both running around the city," Michelangelo said, "then why not just stop chasing him? Maybe he'll get bored."

"Hm." Donatello swirled his coffee and glanced at Leonardo curiously. "Do you think el Fantasma would get bored if he wasn't chased?"

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. "Fantasma is a thief. I don't think he's out joyriding."

Donatello smiled. "Of course not."

"And don't call him Fantasma," Raphael growled. "It's Ghost. Stupid news show just reported it stupid and didn't even bother to translate the stupid name."

"You have a point," Donatello said. "But the name definitely stuck."

He turned his screen so that they could see the headline, _Fantasma Strikes Again! Ancient Jade Necklace Stolen_ , followed by a picture of the pale green jewelry shaped like a long dragon. Below that, an artist's rendition showed little more than a dark cloak in the window, jewels in hand.

Leonardo tensed. He hadn't been spotted at all. Someone had taken liberties and his public image was becoming more and more like a costumed cartoon character with the cloak spinning impossibly in the wind. He frowned, not sure if he was offended or not. The picture looked kind of cool, but his personal pride as a ninja was threatened.

"Looks like they suspect Nightwatcher is in cahoots with him," Donatello said, reading the article. "After all, 'the two have been sighted frequently together'."

"Because I'm chasing him!" Raphael groaned, pressing his hands against his head. He threw his arms up in defeat. "Why are humans so dumb? Huh? Is it the black armor? Should I have gone for silver or something shiny?"

"If you're having such a hard time," Michelangelo said, "we could help you chase him. Right, Leo—? Whoa, Donny, you okay?"

Donatello coughed, putting down his coffee as he tried to clear his throat, covering his mouth with his hand. His coughing came fast and forced, and he waved them away with his other hand.

"I'm good, I'm good," Donatello said with a sputter that sounded more like a snicker. "Just got me by surprise, that's all."

"I don't think," Leonardo said, glaring sideways at his brother, then turning to Michelangelo, "that Raphael wants the help. Or did you need us to come with you, Raph?"

"Like hell," Raphael said firmly. "I got this. I'll get him. He's fast, but ain't no way he's as strong as me. I just gotta get my hand around him one time."

"That's...probably true," Donatello said slowly. "Your armor is pretty tough. Not much can go through some of that plating you welded."

Leonardo heard the warning in his brother's voice. He had dodged Raphael so far, but no one could dodge forever. Still, he shrugged. He would just force Raphael to fight where he was at a disadvantage, in tight streets or staggered rooftops or among the hidden recesses of Central Park.

There was a shifting sound from Splinter's room. All of them fell silent, listening closely, but their father's murmurs faded back into light snores. Raphael breathed out in relief and lowered his voice.

"Just once," he promised more to his cereal bowl than his siblings. "Soon as I get my hands on him..."

"Hey Donny," Michelangelo said, pointing at a picture on the screen. "What's Diablo Puerto?"

"Oh, this." Donatello expanded the image of a man being arrested, a large tattoo of a devil on his shoulder revealed as the police forced him into a car. "It's a new cartel trying to move into New York. They're not having much success, but the fighting is starting to catch people in the crossfire."

"Of other cartels?" Michelangelo asked.

"And gangs," Donatello said. "Latin Kings in particular. I don't know what happened, but anytime Diablo Puerto tries to open up somewhere new, there's a serious gun fight and it's mostly devils on the ground."

"Are they just lousy shots?" Michelangelo asked.

"Lousy at choosing their battles," Leonardo said. "They were the ones who targeted April. All three hitmen I killed had DP tattoos."

"Just don't go diving between them when the bullets start flying," Raphael said, putting his hand on Michelangelo's arm. "You ain't got armor."

"Your armor isn't bullet proof," Michelangelo said. "Don't go getting cocky."

"Nah." Raphael shrugged and slurped down the rest of his breakfast. "Hard to get cocky when I can't catch that little damn ghost."

Leonardo smiled behind his tea.

His smile disappeared during early morning practice. Pulling so many late nights left him struggling to keep even with Donatello, who pulled no punches as he enjoyed a rare match where he landed more hits than not. Beside them, Raphael suffered the same with Michelangelo, staggering back on his rear as his little brother delivered a strong punch to his plastron.

"Perhaps, Raphael," Splinter said from the side of the dojo, "you should stay in a night or two and catch up on some needed sleep."

"...yeah, maybe tonight," Raphael mumbled, accepting Michelangelo's hand up. "Can't beat up punks if I'm falling down on the job, huh?"

"No shame in admitting even you need sleep," Donatello said.

"Rich coming from you," Leonardo murmured. "Have you slept this week?"

"Catnaps," Donatello said and smacked one of Leonardo's rising bruises.

At the end of practice, Leonardo made sure Michelangelo put away all their equipment while Raphael swept and Donatello cleared away in the incense. He didn't need to do much, just nod at them to clean up as Splinter called an end to morning training. Four months had left them doing their chores with little griping, even from Michelangelo, who ducked every time Splinter picked up his walking stick.

As for himself, Leonardo sat down to repair two practice swords and fix the leather work on Raphael's second pair of sais. Normally his brother could have done that last part, but he'd encouraged Raphael to head off to his room for a nap, and...if Leonardo had to admit it, he felt a little guilty.

"You could use a few extra hours of sleep as well," Splinter said, coming up behind him. "Your moves are not as clean as they usually are."

"True, sensei." Leonardo sighed. "I've been trying to find the place where Diablo Puerto holes up—"

"Dangerous to go alone on such a mission," Splinter said. "Especially when you have not yet recovered from your trip. Remember, you were isolated without your brothers beside you for months. It will take more than a few weeks to make up for surviving alone."

Leonardo closed his eyes at the memory. Yes, treating strange cities as an uneven playground had been thrilling, but searching out lone killers in those towns, worse—having to sleep lightly for fear that he might be found...

"Hard to break new habits," he said softly.

"Hm?" Splinter tilted his ear closer.

"I'll try to get to sleep earlier," he promised.

When lunch rolled around, however, he had to wake Raphael up from snoozing on the couch just so he could eat. Afterward, as Raphael crashed back on the couch, Leonardo made Donatello promise to wake him up as soon as Raphael rose. He couldn't afford to be slower than his brother.

So it was no surprise when Donatello kissed his temple, rousing him out of sleep.

"Seven thirty," Donatello whispered, looking over his shoulder. "Mikey's in his room reading comics but Splinter's still up watching tv. You can go whenever he goes off to bed."

"Good." Leonardo shook his head, trying to clear it. "I should be all right before I go, but I think I'll keep it to a light job tonight. The comic book one."

Donatello sat beside him, half-shrugging as he set a tablet down by the futon. "You sure? I don't want you trying your luck when you're tired. Do you really have to go out tonight?"

"I'm not just running errands for you," Leonardo smiled. "I was serious about finding Diablo Puerto. I don't like them being so close. What if April picks up something else and we don't notice in time? I want them gone."

"As long as you don't try to take them all out yourself," Donatello said, tapping his finger on Leonardo's shoulder. "Fantasma's a thief, not a one man army."

"I really wish they hadn't stuck with that name," Leonardo said. "I sound like a soft drink."

"That's Fanta," Donatello chuckled as he crept onto the futon. "Scoot over. Everyone says I need to sleep more and this is just too inviting."

Donatello only fell asleep much later, smiling in satisfaction as he lay against Leonardo.

By then, Splinter had finally gone to bed. Leonardo left his brother fast asleep, pulling the sheet over him and moving his tablet so he wouldn't accidentally roll over on it. As soon as he was out of the lair, he threw on his cloak and ran for the culvert.

Taking the comic book was little more than a glorified smash and grab. There was no alarm as he broke into the store, and he found it easily in its glass case with a small light still shining on it. He wondered if this was actually insurance fraud as he took it out, finding it encased in hard plastic. He folded it in cloth to cushion it and set it in his satchel, then left and went looking less for Raphael and more for the gang.

Raphael had said something about scouring Chinatown, looking for half-empty apartments or gutted water towers that could be used as a thief's hideout. Hoping that his brother was no longer in the neighborhood, Leonardo covered ground as fast as he could, tempting fate as he leaped without looking, rolling after longer drops and somersaulting across narrow pipes. He wasn't the acrobat of the family—Michelangelo had that role all sewn up and could have done the same run backwards and on his hands—but Leonardo was no slouch, either. If Raphael spotted him, he simply wouldn't be able to sneak up or surprise him.

Leonardo realized his brother wouldn't be coming up to the rooftops when he heard the gunshots down below.


	5. Chapter 5

Raphael left his motorcycle behind a wrought iron fence around an apartment complex. Few people could pick up the heavy machine and drop it over the fence, and if they managed to lift it from behind there, he'd hear their heart explode from a block away. He couldn't help a little puff of pride in his own strength.

He went up to the rooftops first, scanning the dark expanse above the city, looking up and down the street. Finding one thief—one very stealthy thief, he grudgingly admitted—in all of New York would be an insane task...if he hadn't been smart about it.

He'd asked Donatello for help, bearing up under his brother's poorly hidden snickers as he ran a few searches online. For once, Donatello offered no extra help except to type in exactly what Raphael wanted, saying "no no, Raph, I refuse to speculate as I don't want to compromise your investigation."

Whatever that meant. Raphael didn't need help. He printed a map of the Ghost's thefts and marked them out, then scribbled down the places he'd run into him. Or her, he thought, although when he wondered that out loud, Donatello had choked on his coffee again.

The map gave him a surprisingly small area to concentrate on. For all the wealth that New York had to offer, the Ghost kept to the lower side of Manhattan, a little bit of Brooklyn, and of course the park. That cut it down a lot, but still...he sighed, putting his foot up on the ledge. He wasn't likely to find his thief just like that. He was more likely to spot random wannabe badasses and...

His eyes narrowed.

A couple of young men in yellow and black headed down the street, meeting up with a handful more on the corner. They exchanged hand signs, nodded at each other, lit a couple of cigarettes. Then all of them continued on, walking with purposeful stride.

Raphael followed above, moving as quietly as the armor would let him. Back when he'd first created his armor, he hadn't understood Donatello's snide comment that "even a ninja takes a negative five to his sneak skill with armor like that." Then Raphael had taken his first few steps, clanking like a broken engine. Although he'd padded the bottom of his boots, the armor tended to rattle, but not so much that he couldn't fade into the background noise of the city.

The gang turned down into an alley. Raphael caught up, peering over the side of the building. And frowned.

They'd all disappeared.

"Since when are Latin Kings freakin' ninjas?" he muttered.

He looked again, but there was nothing there except a dumpster, a pile of garbage, a busted light on the wall... Maybe they'd gone inside one of the rusty access doors?

Climbing while wearing the armor was not easy, but he had the upper body strength to clamber down to the street—first snap out his chain, sling the weighted end around the utility pole in the center, then drop down onto the dumpster—

Footsteps came into the alley.

Bullets suddenly swarmed the air.

Raphael had the briefest glimpse of yellow and black from behind the dusty windows shattering out onto the pavement, a flash of men crouching and firing back at the windows. Latin Kings had ambushed Diablo Puerto, and Raphael was caught in the crossfire—peppered with concrete and glass and ricochets bouncing off his armor.

In the confusion, Raphael brought his arms up, guarding himself with the heavier plates of steel as he sprang backwards. His shell slammed against a door, breaking through the strong hinges, and he fell into the safer darkness of an empty stairwell. Coughing, he clambered back to his feet, dusting off the wood chunks and concrete dust.

"So that's what it looks like," he grumbled, "before it's dead devils in the street."

Not that he cared if they shot themselves to pieces, but a bullet didn't care who it hit and stray bullets traveled far. He spotted a yellow and black blur running by the door, followed by several more, including one that staggered and fell, curled up around a stomach shot.

Taking a deep breath, Raphael grabbed the door and charged out, grunting as he flung it into the running shooters on his left. There were two more to his right, separated from their crew, and he put the back of his fist into one's face, kicking the gun out of the second one's hand.

Shots rang from the men to his left. Raphael dove behind the dumpster, wincing as bullets punched through the metal and blew past him. He turned and put his shoulder against it, gritting his teeth as he pushed with all his might, rattled as a bullet came through but deflected off his armor. The wheels underneath screeched through rust and grime, turning slowly, then gathering speed as it moved. He pushed it a step, then another, then another, and then finally it was rolling free, barreling down the alley and grinding through whoever was on the other side.

The shots briefly stopped, and then like a shooting gallery, someone popped up in a window to his right. Raphael hissed a breath, turning far too slowly, trying to throw himself out of the way.

The bullet caught him on the side, grazing his armor and leaving a curved notch on his shell. The near miss still threw him back against the wall, and as he slid down, he saw not the shooter but the gun barrel pointing straight at his helmet, as large as a canon.

Something smashed both the gun and the shooter back and out of sight. Raphael blinked, startled that the man had seemingly just vanished. He scrambled back to his feet and looked down the alley—

The Ghost had his back to him, facing the gang and flinging something that glinted in the light. Raphael squinted, trying to see, and then the Ghost turned around and faced him.

Raphael snarled in frustration. The light was behind the Ghost, making it impossible to see his face.

"I ain't gonna thank ya!" Raphael yelled. "You're just as bad as they are!"

The Ghost regarded him for a moment, not saying anything, then looked around himself at the walls. Raphael had the feeling that the thief was looking for a way out and realized that, if the Ghost had dropped from the roof, he hadn't planned for an escape route. There were no easy handholds up and out of the alley.

"You're stuck down here," Raphael realized.

The Ghost took a half step back, then realized that was a mistake and tried to stop. That only made his uncertainty all the more obvious. Raphael took a step toward him.

"Don't try to run—"

The Ghost turned and ran.

"Dammit!"

Raphael gave chase, leaping the dumpster and stomping over the fallen gangs, crunching fingers and knees under his metal boots. The groans and yells of pain faded as he burst onto the sidewalk, following the flutter of the Ghost's cloak around the corner.

In a straight chase, the Ghost had the distinct advantage of not hauling ninety pounds of steel. Raphael's armor probably would have flattened his siblings if they'd tried to run in it, and even Raphael had his limits. Fortunately he had something to level their playing field.

Raphael snapped his chain from his forearm and slung it forward like a shot, missing the Ghost by a hair's breadth. The Ghost startled to the left, stumbling before catching himself and darting across the empty street.

The chain audibly retracted and locked into place again, and this time Raphael swung it in a wide arc just above the Ghost. As the thief started to climb up a rain gutter, the chain tore through the air and took out a chunk of the pipe, sending him crashing back to the ground.

"Quit running," Raphael warned him, retracting the chain again. "Or the next one's going through your head."

Finally the Ghost turned, his left arm up as if he hid a weapon beneath the cloak. Raphael grit his teeth. In the gold light from the streetlamps, he had a good look at the cloak, really just a glorified scarf, but it covered the thief's smaller frame well and Raphael still couldn't see under the hood.

"Stay put..." Raphael said slowly. "Good little thief. No one wants to sit in jail with their face busted, right?"

The hood turned slightly as if considering that.

"You really like the silent mysterious schtick, huh?" Raphael reached back into a zipped pouch, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "Now just keep standing still..."

As Raphael came closer, the Ghost backed up until he hit the wall. Even without seeing his eyes, Raphael knew the Ghost was focused only on those handcuffs. Raphael swallowed once. This was the dangerous part, getting closer while his target turned into a cornered animal—

* * *

Leonardo panicked.

The handcuffs were far more threatening than the chain, but both were horribly dangerous, and danger meant attack.

He leaped, feinted to one side and dodging back only when he heard the chain release click. The delay cost him a precious second that sent him sprawling as the chain's weight struck his shoulder. Immediately the shock numbed his whole left arm, but he grabbed the chain in his other hand, yanking hard.

Still attached to the chain, Raphael went sprawling forward on his hands and knees.

"Son of a bitch—!"

Likewise, Leonardo swore a string of curses to himself, angry that he'd put himself in this situation, and he gave his brother a swift kick against his thigh that forced Raphael nearly flat for just an instant. Then Leonardo was running again, back the way they'd come, stepping again on the gangs who groaned in further misery. A vault over the dumpster, then a hard right turn through the doorway Raphael had smashed.

A crash and scream of rage told him that Raphael had just punched the dumpster against the wall.

Up the stairs two at a time, stumbling and hitting his shins on the edge of the steps, pulling himself up with the railing—he smashed any light he passed, leaving a trail of darkness in his wake. Behind him, Raphael swore while hitting more steps simply because of the armor's weight and the thick shadows. Fourth floor, fifth floor, sixth—

The top door was locked—Leonardo kicked it once, twice—it refused to give, rattling tantalizingly against a firm latch. Leonardo grabbed the stair railing for leverage as he kicked both feet against it, finally breaking the latch. He landed awkwardly, lunging forward and rolling just as Raphael reached out and missed his scarf.

"Oh no you don't—"

Raphael couldn't swing the chain in such a tight space. Leonardo darted wildly over the rooftop, taking the ledge at a full sprint before he knew where he was jumping. He landed two stories down on the next roof, sprinting again even as he put his hand on his shoulder to try to stop it throbbing. There was a heavy thump as Raphael followed, slowing as he started to huff with exertion.

Yes, Leonardo thought. I'm faster. Just keep dodging, keep running—

His heart pounded in his chest so loud that he could hear it over his harsh breathing. He felt like he was covered in ice and burning up, and his shoulder screamed and his lungs were going to shred—he was gasping hard and he had never felt so alive than that moment. He heard the chain's click and rolled right, feeling the air crack as the chain swung ineffectually over him again.

When he leaped from the roof, he didn't care that he was plunging straight toward a window. His cloak felt like wings—he was thirty feet up and flying—

He curled into a ball and hit the window with his injured shoulder, crunching glass under his shell before coming back up in a run. An alarm blared as he tore through the offices, leaping desks lightly as he ran toward the ceiling-to-floor windows ahead of him. Halfway there he heard another thump—Raphael still on his heels, but farther now, slowing down.

Leonardo picked up an office chair and flung it at the far window, smashing the glass for an easy jump—

The lights came on.

Leonardo had ducked behind a desk before he realized it, covering himself with his scarf as the harsh fluorescent lights blinded him. The lights were part of the security system, he thought, and Raphael was still barreling toward him.

"Got you now!" Raphael yelled, crashing straight through desks.

An elevator dinged. Leonardo darted toward the sound, staying low and screaming internally at how much time it cost him to crouch. Footsteps came running, throwing a door open so hard that it hit the wall—

Finally able to see clearly, Leonardo vaulted over the two security guards. Giving up the elevator as too slow, he went through the door and found himself in another stairwell. This time the climb was harder, and his arm burned as air stung his cuts. The jump through the window hadn't been as harmless as he thought. He held his arm to his side, hoping that his wounds there were shallower than he guessed.

No one was following. He smashed the lights anyway, climbing several flights until he reached the roof access. This time the door was unlocked and he stepped through, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief in the relative silence. He staggered to the very edge and put his hands down on the concrete, resting for a moment.

He looked down. The wall here was almost sheer glass, but he knew there was a smashed window a few floors below. If he pulled his grappling—

"Took ya long enough."

Leonardo whirled, backed against the ledge.

Halfway across the roof, Raphael leaned the side of the roof access. He stood straight and knocked his knuckles against the door once.

"Elevator," Raphael said as he started toward him. "Beats the stairs any day. You sound kinda winded there, Ghost."

Leonardo realized he was panting and snapped his jaw shut. His body tensed, and he forced himself to loosen up again. Raphael couldn't see him clearly. He had to keep telling himself that. Raphael still didn't know. That was all that mattered.

"Now this is where I would ask if we were gonna do this nice and easy," Raphael said, stopping a few meters away.

Leonardo swallowed once.

Raphael lowered his head like an angry bull. "But I ain't in the mood for easy no more."

Raphael swung the chain. Leonardo had no way to go but down, scrambling back up and just out of reach. Every swing meant to break bone. Every punch was aimed at his face or chest, intent on a single shot finisher.

Basic dodges, rolls and feints kept Leonardo just out of reach, driving him back across the roof. Leonardo focused not on his brother's arms but his feet, watching for how he shifted his weight a split second before the chain lashed the air or his fist swung too close to his face. Leonardo clenched his hands into fists, but he couldn't fight back. One precise strike, one low sweep kick, and Raphael would read him instantly. That he had gotten this far was a miracle—

Raphael's closed fist struck his injured shoulder. With pained gasp, Leonardo went down on one knee. He tasted brother's fist had bruised bone, if it hadn't broken something altogether.

There was no banter, no smug trash talk. Raphael saw an opening and advanced, ready to kick the Ghost senseless. Leonardo wondered if Raphael would carry his unconscious body home. He had a moment to think that it just wasn't fair—if only he could have fought back—

A gunshot hit the wall beside them. At the access doors, a single security guard had dared come through after the Nightwatcher and Fantasma, aiming shakily at them both.

"Aw geez..." Raphael muttered. "Look, lay off, ya stupid human..."

As Raphael turned to face the guard, Leonardo realized what was about to happen. Raphael didn't know how intimidating that armor was—had never faced himself in it, and now he was turning that dark bulk toward a terrified man with a firearm—

Leonardo sprang as the gun fired.

The bullet passed harmlessly over them as Raphael fell, Leonardo on top of him, but they turned slightly and the moonlight reflected off of Raphael's helmet, flashing over Leonardo's face.

"What the—"

Leonardo scrambled back and turned on all fours, rising to his feet. His hand came up with a shuriken that flew a straight line to the guard's hand, piercing through and drawing a scream even as the guard staggered out of sight. The sound of a door slamming shut followed.

"Wait—" Raphael clambered up on one knee.

Like hell was he going to just wait. Leonardo moved to run past him—

Raphael's hand closed on his wrist and held strong, yanking him around so that Leonardo half-turned, still poised to run even as he was forced back to face him. The movement pulled the hood wider, just enough for it to slide down to Leonardo's shoulders.

They stood facing each other for a long moment. The wind blew over them, rippling the torn and ragged edge of the cloak. Both of them breathed hard. That the bullet would have hit Raphael was obvious but no longer important.

"You...cheap..." Raphael sputtered in growing rage. "...lying hypocrite..."

"Raph—" Leonardo started.

"Shut up!"

Raphael turned, dragging Leonardo forward and throwing him to the ground. In the second he let go, Leonardo put his hands out and turned the throw into a flip, flipped again, then did a vault that would have made Michelangelo proud. He landed nimbly at the very edge of the roof, coming to an easy crouch. He coughed once, spitting blood, never taking his eyes off his brother.

Now Raphael spotted the satchel at his brother's side. His rage turned white hot and he ripped off his helmet, staring at him in breathless indignation.

"What was it this time?" he demanded. "What was so important you turned into a common damn thief?"

Leonardo felt his face heat up, but he met his brother's glare straight on. He wasn't sure what else to do. Run? Raphael knew who he was. Raphael knew—

"Don't tell Splinter," Leonardo said, appalled at how childish it sounded.

Raphael gaped. "Are you shitting me? 'Don't tell Splinter'? That his favorite son is a worthless thief?"

Leonardo flinched. His eyes narrowed as he shifted his weight, feeling like a jaguar primed to leap. With a harsh pull, he brought the hood back up over his head, covering his face in comfortable shadow again.

"You tell Splinter," Leonardo hissed, "and I'll tell him you're Nightwatcher."

Raphael stopped in dawning realization.

"You..."

Voices came close to the access door. Raphael glanced that way for a moment, then back at his brother...

Where his brother had been.

Leonardo was gone. Raphael ran to the ledge and looked down in time to see his brother landing on the ground and running across the street into the darkness.

He slammed his fist on the ledge, smashing off a chunk of concrete. Hot tears stung his eyes. That his big brother would...that Leonardo had...

When the guards finally came out, Raphael was gone, taking the same route Leonardo had if a little more clumsily, weighed down with armor and exhausted, physically and emotionally. He headed back to his bike, struggling to lift it over the fence, and kicked the engine started. The road home felt a hundred miles long.


	6. Chapter 6

Leonardo felt like he was looking over his shoulder the whole way home, and he opened the door half expecting a fist. Instead the lair was quiet and dark, save for the thin blue light coming from beneath Donatello's door.

He crossed the room, his feet dragging, and leaned against the door. He knocked once, hoping his brother hadn't gone to sleep—

The door opened. He stumbled forward a step, caught hastily in Donatello's arms.

"Leo?"

Donatello put his hand under his brother's face, tilting his head up. Small bruises, a scratch, but it was his hollow eyes that made him realize something had gone wrong. He brought his brother into the lab and set him down in his chair.

"What happ—"

His question faded when he saw the deep bruise on his brother's shoulder. As he slowly pulled the scarf loose and let it pool on the floor, he revealed a mess of blood on Leonardo's arm.

"Raph found you," Donatello said, then sighed at Leonardo in frustration. "Dammit, I didn't think he'd...did he get you with the chain?"

"Once," Leonardo said quietly. "And he landed a punch. That was it."

Donatello glanced at his bleeding arm, then back up at him, hoping for more information.

"Will it need stitches?" Leonardo asked, eyes shut.

"Can't tell yet"

Donatello looked over him to make sure there were no more major injuries. Not content with that, he lightly touched his brother's plastron and ran his hands down Leonardo's body, over his other arm, along the sides of his shell. He knelt and followed Leonardo's legs, pausing as his brother winced.

"And your ankle's kind of swollen," Donatello said, gently pressing his fingertips along the joint. "Probably not a sprain, though. Landed hard, huh?"

"Yeah, a couple times."

"Stay put. I gotta get some things."

He went to the back of the lab, grabbing a clean bucket and then sweeping his hand over the medical supplies he needed. Bandages tumbled in, followed by needle and sutures just in case, then a wash cloth and antiseptic spray. He dumped it out on his work table beside Leonardo, then took the bucket to the kitchen and put it in the sink to fill. In the freezer, he took a handful of the many ice packs they kept ready.

"Hold this against your shoulder," Donatello said as he came back, placing the cold pack on the bruise on Leonardo's shoulder. "Maybe we can keep the swelling from getting worse."

With his good hand, Leonardo held the pack more gingerly than Donatello had, tensing as his brother began to wash the blood from his arm and side. Donatello brought his magnifying glass to bear, shining his desk lamp directly on the wound as he searched for and found a half dozen slivers, gingerly pulling them out with tweezers.

"Don't tense up," Donatello said. "Just makes it harder to get them out."

"I didn't think there'd be pieces," Leonardo whispered, but he forced that arm to relax.

"Ibuprofen or aspirin?" Donatello asked quietly, dropping the bloody glass on table.

"Aspirin," Leonardo muttered. "Works faster."

Donatello paused, looking over the wound one more time, then breathed out.

"No stitches," he said in relief. "It's not that deep. I'm gonna wash it out again, then bandage it up."

Leonardo nodded once, fidgeting as the cold water stung along the cuts. The antibacterial spray burned worse, and he turned his head, pressing the pack a little tighter. Donatello added a couple home-made butterfly bandages to keep the wound securely closed. Then finally the real bandages went on, wrapping from wrist to elbow.

"Okay," Donatello sighed, rising. "I'll go get the aspirin. Just wait—"

"Here."

A bottle sailed through the room, forcing Donatello to catch it in midair. It bounced in his hands for a few seconds before he finally clutched it tight. Then he held his breath and looked up at Raphael, who leaned one arm up against the door frame.

Donatello quietly took a step between him and Leonardo. Behind him, his brother turned his head just enough to see Raphael from the corner of his eye.

Raphael had shed his armor, revealing nothing more than a handful of light bruises. The armor was worth every rivet, and where Leonardo had nearly come apart, Raphael felt nothing worse than a few aches and a deep sense of betrayal.

He filled the doorway, throwing a long shadow over them both, and he looked from Donatello to Leonardo, then back again. Nodding his head as if he'd figured something out, he said nothing, merely turned and headed to his room.

Donatello watched him for a moment, just to make sure that he didn't suddenly double back to pounce. The suspicion was unfair, he knew, but he could only see the evidence before him. The blood. The deep bruising. The...pain killers? He tipped out a few pills and held them out to his brother.

Since he couldn't use his left hand and his right was holding the ice pack, Leonardo bowed his head and nuzzled the pills from Donatello's hand, taking them without water.

"You don't think he'll tell Splinter, will he?" Donatello asked.

He came close, putting his arm around Leonardo, careful not to touch his shoulder. When Leonardo refused to move, he put his hand to his brother's temple, nudging him lightly. With a tired sigh, Leonardo tilted his head to rest on Donatello's shoulder.

"...no." Why was it so hard to talk? Leonardo felt like he was forcing out every word. "I warned him if he tells Splinter, then so will I."

Donatello whistled low. "A real nuclear option...mutual assured destruction."

He held him for a moment longer, looking over him one more time, then changed out the ice pack.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?"

Reluctant, Leonardo stared at the floor, seeing but not seeing the spare parts and wires and notes pushed against the wall. The bare concrete was easier to think about without having to relive anything of Raphael—the look when Raphael realized who he'd been chasing, and his face changed from shock to hurt—

Donatello bent forward to see his face. Soft brown eyes looked up at him, quiet and patient. Leonardo closed his eyes and looked away, but he nodded once. His brother had patched him back together, was still patching him together. He deserved a reply.

Leonardo started to shrug, hissing as he moved the wrong shoulder.

"I got too close," he said. "And then I couldn't shake him. I went through a window and then..."

He chuckled once, then again as the absurdity struck him.

"And then I took the stairs while he took the elevator."

Not pushing for more, Donatello mentally filled in some of the blanks. For whatever reason, Leonardo had let Raphael see him, and then he never managed to put any real distance between them. They must have run for several blocks as Leonardo hoped Raphael would tire, but he'd hurt himself and worn himself out. And then Raphael didn't have to be faster. Without that one advantage, Leonardo had fallen.

"Silly turtle," Donatello said, brushing his knuckles across his brother's face. "Even the world's fastest cheetah has to slow down sometime."

Leonardo didn't laugh, but he managed a faint smile. He tilted his head to feel his brother's hand, then tilted a little more, resting more and more on his fingertips. He was so tired that Donatello's hand felt like a pillow.

"You're gonna sleep in my bed tonight," Donatello said. "Your futon would just make it hurt more."

"I won't argue. Just..."

Leonardo put his hand to his satchel, surprised that it hadn't torn off during the whole night. He tried to lift the strap, but it refused to move. Or he simply couldn't move it. Donatello came behind him and gently pulled the canvas up and off of him, setting the bag on the table.

"You mean after all that?" Donatello asked, opening it and pulling out a comic book encased in plastic, a sticker with a grade and appraisal stamp in the corner. "You still got it?"

"It's still in one piece?" Leonardo said, looking over his shoulder. He half-smiled to see it. "Oh good. That would've really sucked."

Donatello studied the cover, a man in a gray costume on a yellow background. "Detective Comics 27...y'know, I think I'm more awed by this than I was by Ptolemy's maps."

Leonardo chuckled. "It's kinda why my left side is all busted up. I had the comic on my right."

"So you sacrificed your arm," Donatello said, "to save Batman. Worth it."

He came up behind him, helping his brother up and letting Leonardo put his good arm over his shoulders. With small steps, they slowly fell in synch, quietly moving through the lair toward his room. As they came to the doorway, Donatello spotted Michelangelo watching from Raphael's door. They shared a brief wince, and then Donatello took his brother to bed, closing the door behind themselves.

Murmurs, soft voices, the sound of a mattress weighed down and blankets rustling...Michelangelo listened for a minute, catching the sound of them rising and falling.

"Do you think he hates me?"

"No..." Donatello sighed heavily, followed by the sound of him climbing into bed. "I kinda think he hates us both."

"Mm."

The click of a lamp and the light under the door turned dark.

"Well...he always hates me anyway..."

The voices faded into sleep. Michelangelo eavesdropped a moment longer, then joined Raphael at the edge of his hammock, sitting down and letting the netting force him to sit flush against his brother. Neither spoke, although Raphael put his arm around him and held him tight.

Raphael grit his teeth, screwing his eyes shut. Leonardo's scarf had lain so casually forgotten on the floor...of course Donatello knew. Had known when Raphael asked for help with the searches online. Had known at the breakfast table as Raphael swore he was being played.

Had laughed.

Raphael lay his head on Michelangelo's shoulder, hiding his face against his throat.

It was so obvious now, Donatello laughing and snickering at Raphael's frustration. That Leonardo was right under his nosing, stealing—

"I'm going to sleep," Raphael muttered.

"'kay." Michelangelo slowly withdrew his arm, sighing. "Want me to stay?"

"...yeah."

Raphael lay back, arranging himself on the hammock in a smooth flop, kicking off his kneepads and tossing his mask wherever it fell. Michelangelo gave him a moment to get comfortable, then slipped off his own gear and climbed in after him. Raphael always slept on his shell, so Michelangelo lay down by his side, almost on top of him.

"Geez," Michelangelo whispered, "when you gonna stop growing, huh?"

That brought a smile. With his littler brother's head on his shoulder, Raphael's feet still passed his by an inch.

"You're lucky I drink so much beer," Raphael said. "Stunted my growth."

With Michelangelo's soft mutters in his ears, Raphael closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly. His mind refused to rest, replaying the chase over and over, replaying breakfast. He remembered chasing Fantasma...Leonardo...across Chinatown. The way Fanta—Leonardo seemed to laugh. Like stepping on Raphael was so much fun.

The dream crept up on him. He couldn't tell where the chase changed—he was chasing Leonardo across the roof, then through the city, heading for the train station. Leonardo had lost his scarf—no, he didn't have it, looking over his shoulder several times as if he could will his brothers to catch up with him.

"Hurry up!" Leonardo yelled, his voice growing fainter with the wind. "I have to keep him in sight or I'll lose him!"

"Wait!" Raphael tried to run but the concrete was wet and thick like mud.

Far ahead, the assassin was a small figure on the horizon but Raphael saw him impossibly clearly—wearing black, holding a gun as big as a canon. There were bullets around him, ricocheting off the concrete, hitting Raphael's black skin and reflecting off as if he were armored. In the midst of the bullets, April was crouching down, hands over her head, screaming as each shot narrowly missed.

"Don't worry," Raphael yelled, trying to reach her, "we'll stop him!"

The assassin split into three figures, all of them stepping up onto a train that began rolling down the rail. Leonardo stood on the platform, holding out his hand to Raphael.

"Please!" Leonardo yelled. "Don't let me go alone!"

"Stay here!" Raphael called out, but his voice refused to do more than whisper. "Just stay here!"

"Raph, please!"

A deep shadow began to loom up in his dream. Like a wall of darkness, it covered up the city, the train, falling over his brother and wrapping up around him so that Raphael could only see his eyes beneath his hood.

"Leo!"

Something hit him from behind—Michelangelo stumbled into him, crying in pain—they tumbled to the ground in a tangle, sinking into concrete. Raphael swore desperately, pushing himself up as he tried to breathe. In the distance, Leonardo fell silent and vanished. Everything vanished. Raphael was left sinking deeper and deeper, drowning—

"Raph, dude, wake up..."

"Raph?"

"Don't make me get the cold water..."

Raphael blinked slowly, groaning as his room gradually came into focus. There was light coming from outside, silhouetting his little brother in front of him. He frowned. His little brother had a bucket.

"If you throw that at me," Raphael muttered, "I am putting your head in the toilet."

"Awww." With a pout, Michelangelo set the bucket down with water sloshing over his hands. "You're no fun."

"I ain't in the mood," Raphael said. Yawning, he swung his legs off the hammock and scratched the side of his shell. "What time is it?"

"Like nine," Michelangelo said. "Looks like everyone slept in."

Raphael blinked. "And Splinter?"

"...him, too."

What should have been a welcome respite was instead a gnawing ball of anxiety. Splinter slept later and later, rarely remarking upon it. Raphael had known that his father wouldn't live forever, but to be faced with the signs of his aging...

"Breakfast is on," Michelangelo said. "We're, uh, we're the last ones."

Raphael gripped the edge of his hammock. Which meant that their brothers were already at the table. Did he really want to face them right now? He could always grab leftovers afterward.

The hammock rope creaked audibly as his hands tightened into fists. Oh yes. He wanted to face them.

Acutely aware of his own footsteps, Raphael went side by side with his little brother. Together they made a pair sitting opposite of Leonardo and Donatello. Splinter sat quietly at the head of the table, nursing his tea.

Awkward silence. Leonardo looked only at his rice and eggs. Donatello hid behind his coffee and laptop—look at him typing so much, working so hard. Type type type. Raphael pulled over the cereal and picked out all the marshmallows, piling them beside his bowl.

More silence. Rice and eggs were super fascinating today. Donatello must have had fifty tabs open for all the clicking and reading he was doing.

In the light, the shadow on Leonardo's shoulder had turned dark, clearly visible around the ice pack draped over his shell. Despite the constant cold, the bruise had still spread and swollen slightly. Raphael wondered if he'd left a bone bruise. Since Leonardo held almost perfectly still, that was probably the reason. Or maybe it was his forearm, still swathed in bandages. A tiny bit of red poked out from along one edge. The wound was still weeping.

The bottle of aspirin stood beside Donatello's coffee. Raphael wondered why it wasn't by Leonardo, then figured his brother couldn't open it one-handed.

Michelangelo looked at all of them in turn, constantly glancing back at Raphael. Usually the breakfast table wasn't this silent, and even if it was, the television would play a comfortable background noise. Today the tv was off, probably in hopes that Raphael might sleep through breakfast, and the silence grew thicker and thicker, a heavy hum in Michelangelo's ears that made the lair feel like it was full of water, swallowing sound and slowly rising over his head—

"I'm going out today," Michelangelo said suddenly. He smiled as they all lifted their heads or glanced at him. "I wanted to get a camera. Like, a good one. I've found some cool places and I wanted to record going through them."

Donatello's brow furrowed, about to ask something. He glanced at Raphael and looked back at his laptop.

"Like urban exploration videos," Michelangelo said, talking when no one else would. "They're super popular. And we see so many cool things that no one else sees 'cause it's all hidden."

"Is..." Donatello started, still staring at the laptop. "Is it going to come from the junk yard? You might have better luck at a pawn shop or..."

"Yeah, kinda," Michelangelo said without elaborating.

Leonardo hesitated, visibly struggling with himself. Then he let out a sigh.

"Just don't get seen," he said.

"Yeah," Raphael said, a touch too loud. "'Cause it sucks getting caught."

Michelangelo and Donatello both winced.

Leonardo looked up at him and didn't reply.

"I see no reason against it," Splinter said, "as long as you are cautious. Even for a trained ninja, the city's ruins and abandoned sites can be dangerous."

"Gotcha, sensei." Michelangelo nodded obediently. "I won't be going anywhere 'till I get used to the camera. I don't want to be messing with buttons when I need to be paying attention."

"Good," Splinter said. He turned his attention to his eldest son. "And you? Will you stay in to rest?"

Everyone stopped, waiting for Leonardo's response. His wounds looked less severe under bandages and hidden by ice packs, but the slump of his shoulders and the hollows of his eyes betrayed how harshly the night had treated him. He froze, feeling all of them studying him.

Then he lifted his head, facing not Splinter but Raphael.

"I'm going out tonight," he said.

Raphael's eyes narrowed.

"Really?"

"I ran across a firefight between the Latin Kings and Diablo Puerto," Leonardo said, all but daring him to contradict. "So they're trying to defend territory. I'll probably find their base of operations soon."

"Huh." Raphael's mouth twisted. "Gonna run any errands while you're out?"

"Yeah," Leonardo said. "One."

Donatello looked between them, reaching out to touch Leonardo's hand and trying to remind him not to antagonize Raphael. It didn't matter. Their fight hadn't ended. They just couldn't fight out in the open.

"Yeah?" Raphael motioned at his arm. "All busted up like that?"

"Last night I had to get in the middle of a fight," Leonardo said, overemphasizing choice words. "I won't make that mistake again."

Bristling, Raphael banished the thought of being saved twice. Trust his stuck-up, teacher's-pet brother to hit below the belt.

"Probably it's those errands that're putting you in harm's way," he said lowly.

"We'll see," Leonardo said. And then spite made him smile. "Or you won't."

Donatello squeezed his eyes shut, as did Michelangelo beside him. With that, the challenge had been thrown.

 


	7. Chapter 7

As close as Raphael kept watch, he still missed his brother sneaking out of the lair. Even a ninja had to go to the bathroom sometimes.

In a way, discovering Leonardo's secret had only made Raphael's job harder. Leonardo no longer had to hide his identity from any of his brothers. As soon as the sun began to set, Leonardo waited for Splinter to make tea or meditate and then darted out of the lair, sprinting to give himself a strong headstart.

Raphael wondered why his brother bothered. He knew everything now. All Raphael had to do was follow swiftly behind and run him down just as he had before.

Which made it all the more frustrating when he didn't find his brother that night.

Or the night after.

Or the night after that.

Cursing, spitting mad, Raphael would come home exhausted from running around New York only to find Leonardo asleep, either in Donatello's bed or his futon. The satchel was always missing.

On the first night, or in the wee hours of the morning rather, he had stared at his brother for almost a minute. Resting on Donatello's pillow, Leonardo lay tense and drawn, in pain despite being fast asleep. He should have been resting all night, but his need to prove himself against Raphael meant that his shoulder healed slowly. A red splotch colored his bandages. If he hadn't needed stitches before, he probably did now.

Raphael had looked toward the lab where Donatello stood in the doorway. As guard? To see if Raphael would go through with his sudden urge to ransack the lab? Donatello leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, head down, looking just as tired as Raphael. And as determined.

Whatever. Raphael had scowled and slunk into the kitchen for beer. Donatello knew a hundred more places to hide something than Raphael could think of. Heck, a stolen necklace or gem could be dropped inside the van's engine. If Leonardo got his stolen goods home, then Donatello made sure Raphael would never find them.

On the second and third nights, Raphael started to feel anxious. He was reminded of how big Manhattan actually was. Had he been lucky that first night, catching Leonardo right after his heist? Or maybe Leonardo hadn't known about Nightwatcher then, hadn't known to lay low. And Leonardo only had to carry around a scarf. Raphael had to put on a whole suit of armor.

Which left Raphael just one choice.

On the fourth night, Leonardo left the lair a tiny bit earlier. Raphael had drawn dinner duty, and so Leonardo had grabbed his gear and ran, taking advantage of his brother's absence. He turned a corner, throwing on his scarf, heading to the storm culvert—

—and halted, stumbling a half-step.

Nightwatcher leaned against the concrete wall, idly swinging the chain in a circle, whistling some strange tune as he waited. Then the tune stopped as the black helmet faced him.

"How...?" Leonardo whispered.

"Switched with Mikey," Raphael said. "You just heard 'me' in the kitchen and didn't look."

Leonardo exhaled. "Well, at least dinner'll actually be good."

"Yeah, yeah, your cooking sucks, too."

Raphael pushed himself from the wall, moving to the middle of the culvert. He continued swinging the chain in lazy circles.

"Go home."

Leonardo didn't answer, watching the chain go through slow turns. That was the only thing he had to be afraid of. The armor weighed his brother down, but that chain could fly faster than Leonardo could run. He glanced around the culvert, noting the lines of the walls that he could use—

A chunk of concrete was gouged in a splash of sparks, landing at his feet before he realized that the chain had swung around. Then a second line smashed along the floor.

Putting his arms up in a block, Leonardo took a step back, then another, flinching as the chain flew in precise arcs past his head and into the wall. Concrete exploded and landed in broken white pieces as Raphael stepped forward, lashing the chain like a whip.

"Go home," Raphael said again. "Before you get worse than what you already got."

Back in the shadow of the entrance, Leonardo put his hand on the wall, then jerked back as the chain slammed only inches away. The shockwave rattled the bones in his hand and made his shoulder ache.

Leonardo stared at his brother for a long moment, swallowing once, staring past him at the glow of the city lights and the vast empty sky. And then Raphael pulled back the chain, swinging it in one hand with more purpose.

Biting back a curse, Leonardo vanished back down the tunnel. The hard footsteps of Raphael running in his armor followed him, hounding him to the lair. Halfway back, Leonardo turned, trying to take another smaller tunnel—

His bruised shoulder slammed into rough wood and something that rattled like wired fencing. Cold pain flared and made him feel like he'd swallowed nails. Stifling his pain, he staggered back and walked unevenly for several steps before he could force himself to run again. So his brother had blocked off the other major routes.

Raphael's low chuckle followed him all the way home.

The next night, Raphael was waiting. He heard a soft step in the darkness of the storm culvert, and then nothing. If Leonardo was standing there in deep shadow, he had a long wait. Raphael stayed until the thin sensation of being watched faded, until he was sure Leonardo had given up. Despite the hour he stood there, Raphael smiled as he went home.

The night after that, not Leonardo but Donatello came walking into the open air.

Blinking, Raphael stood and faced him.

"What, gonna tag-team me now?" he said. "He needs you to distract me?"

Donatello shook his head, crossing his arms.

"He's in bed. Figured I'd come let you know you can come back."

Talking through the helmet was too impersonal for this. Raphael slung it off and held it under his arm.

"'In bed'?"

Donatello half-shrugged.

"I managed to convince him that it's not worth fighting you right now while he's hurt, so instead he's resting up in my room."

"'Resting'," Raphael smirked. "So that's what you two call it."

Rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh, Donatello turned and headed back into the tunnel. Behind, Raphael caught up and drew even with him, matching his pace. With one hand he started undoing the buckles on his pauldrons. If he wasn't going out tonight, then he could start taking off the heavy gear.

"So how come you ain't angry?" Raphael said. "You're his accomplice. Don't you miss getting stolen goodies?"

"I have two nights worth of 'goodies' to tide me over," Donatello said. "I haven't spent it all yet."

"Three nights," Raphael said.

"Huh?"

"Three nights. Don't think I ain't paying attention. He went out three nights before I thought up wasting all this time to babysit him."

"Two nights," Donatello said. "He wasn't on the job on Wednesday."

Raphael frowned. "What?"

"He doesn't steal every time he goes out," Donatello said. "Heck, most of the time he was just crossing the city. He really is after Diablo Puerto, y'know. You blocking him like this isn't helping."

"Then maybe he should leave the cape an' cowl at home." Raphael glared, indignant that he was the one being put on the defense. "He's the thief, not me."

"Yeah, you just go out and commit violent assault," Donatello muttered.

"I'm knocking heads'a gangbangers and punks," Raphael snapped. "I'm making the streets safer."

"Leaving 'em tied up at the scene, right?" Donatello shook his head once. "And you think the police can make arrests off of that?"

"The point," Raphael said, "is that I ain't going around beating up innocent people. Or stealing from 'em, neither."

Donatello paused midstep, giving Raphael a long look, then shrugged again and kept walking. Raphael frowned. What was that about? A doubt crept up on him. Was Leonardo pulling a Robin Hood? Donatello was spending the money on themselves, though, so it wasn't like they were giving it to the poor. And Leonardo would've thrown it in his face, so his brother wasn't trying to be a noble thief.

Snorting in disbelief, Raphael undid his boots and pulled them off, carrying them in one hand. With the chest piece draped over his arm, he had to hop a few times to get rid of the lower pieces. For such bulky armor, it looped easily over his hands, its leather belts acting like handles.

"Anyway," Donatello said. "I kinda wanted to say thanks."

"For what?" Raphael asked. "Blocking your cash flow?"

"For getting him to stay home and rest a little." He shivered. "I hate doing stitches, and he wouldn't have needed them if he'd stayed in bed for awhile. I should be able to convince him to rest a couple more days."

"Great," said Raphael. "Then later I can put him on his shell again and encourage him to stay in for another week."

Donatello didn't answer.

"How many times you think I gotta kick his ass?" Raphael asked. "Until he realizes I ain't letting this go and he gives up that scarf for good?"

They were at the door to the lair. Donatello put his hand on the first brick to press, then looked over his shoulder at his brother.

"Why is this such a big deal with you?" he asked. "Why won't you let Leo do this?"

"Uh, 'cause it's wrong?" Raphael leaned back, putting his arms up as if it was a shocking revelation. "It's stealing. I don't know what crawled up your butt and died, but Leo ain't a thief."

"What if he is?" Donatello asked.

"What?"

"What if he is a thief?" Donatello said, facing him again. "What if this is who he really—"

"No," Raphael said flatly. "Leonardo ain't a thief. He left for awhile and got really mixed up while he was gone. He even said it himself—he wished just one of us had gone with him. Just one of us would've kept him on the straight and narrow."

"But that's the point," Donatello said. "He's always been with us until then—"

"Then we always kept him honest," Raphael said. "And we'll do it again. He ain't leaving the house until he gets it that he ain't dishonorable."

Donatello grimaced, upset with that logic but not countering it. He opened the door and walked in, heading back to his room. To his annoyance, Raphael stowed his armor under the couch and followed him, standing at the door while Donatello went and sat down on the edge of his bed. Leonardo lay on his good side, eyes squeezed shut even in sleep.

"I wasn't lying," Donatello muttered, touching his brother's hand.

"He ain't the only one I wanna see giving up the habit," Raphael said. "How long were you his fence?"

Bristling at the accusing tone, Donatello took a long breath and forced himself to exhale slowly. In his sleep, Leonardo turned slightly and curled his fingers around his brother's hand.

"You got him to back down," Donatello said softly. "This time, while he was tired and injured. What do you think he'll do when he's better?"

"Back down again," Raphael said. "Or I'll put him down."

Donatello drew his fingertip across the bruise slowly fading on his brother's shoulder.

"This was all you did to him. Exhausting himself, slashing himself...he did that." Donatello looked up. "You don't really get why he's doing this. Why he seemed to change so much."

Raphael grimaced. Donatello's big eyed act was second only to Michelangelo, but where their little brother begged like a puppy, Donatello could convince the whole family that he'd been wronged, wounded. That worrying at him was like swatting an injured animal. Standing between him and their brother, the effect only doubled until Raphael had to look away...

...and spot the scarf draped across headboard. His resolve hardened again.

"Oh yeah?" Raphael said. "Why's that?"

Shaking his head once, Donatello looked back down.

"It won't mean anything coming from me. Heck, I'd probably just make it worse trying to explain. You won't change your mind until he shows you."

"Shows me what?" Raphael said. "Come on, I hate it when you get all 'oh, you wouldn't understand my genius thoughts'."

"And I hate it when you act like you're wearing blinders," Donatello said. "Look, the next time you're chasing him, instead of getting pissy that he won't let you punch him, try actually watching him."

"Pfft." Raphael rolled his eyes.

"You know him," Donatello insisted. "You've lived with him for nineteen years. Now how about when you see him...you act like it."

"I'll study him when he's on the ground," Raphael said.

Donatello didn't respond. After a moment, Raphael went back downstairs, moving his armor somewhere safer. He joined Michelangelo on the living room floor, looking at the handheld camera that his little brother proudly displayed. Michelangelo showed off how he could hold the camera forward with the microphone in the back so he would be clearly heard but never seen.

"I was thinking of doing the East Freight tunnels first," Michelangelo said. "Y'know, something easy. Maybe Atlantic Avenue later? Maybe I'll get lucky and find the hidden underground train."

"The train's a legend," Raphael chuckled.

There were leftover pizza pouches on the coffee table, and he took one and idly chewed on the edge of it. His brother tended to leave them in the microwave too long, but the burned edges with the charred mozzarella and overly crisp pepperoni was, in Raphael's opinion, the best part.

"Hey, Mikey."

Raphael's tone had changed. Michelangelo put the camera down gently.

"Yeah?"

"Donny said something..." Raphael trailed off, tapping his fingertips on the floor. "I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't pay attention to it. He's just making excuses without really saying anything."

"What'd he say?"

"That..." He huffed. "That I don't get why Leo's doing this. I mean, it's fun running around, busting shit up. I get that. But to steal shit..."

"Well," Michelangelo said. "It's not really busting things up, right? It seems a lot more controlled than just smashing and grabbing stuff."

Raphael didn't agree, but he didn't argue. He stared at the pizza pouch as if the answers might be inside.

"And that Leo doesn't steal every night." Raphael shrugged. "So what the hell is he doing?"

Michelangelo chuckled. "That I can answer. I mean, think about it, Raph. If you knew that you weren't gonna find any heads to bust, would you still put on the armor and Batman all over the city?"

"I'd probably take the night off and sleep," Raphael said. He reached out and poked his brother. "Unlike some lard buckets, I don't get enough shut eye every night."

"That's not my fault," Michelangelo said, sticking out his tongue.

Raphael took that as an invitation, which ended the conversation for the night.

* * *

At the breakfast table, conversation was noticeably muted. Neither Leonardo nor Raphael baited each other, but they didn't talk to anyone, either. If asked, they passed along the sugar or syrup, pretending that the other didn't exist.

"So Don," Michelangelo started, putting his camera on the table. "How much light am I gonna need for this little guy?"

"Oh, is that the camera?" Donatello reached over and brought it closer. "Huh. You got that pretty quick."

"Well, I wasn't busy like everyone else," Michelangelo said, ignoring how the three of them tensed. "I didn't get a chance to look up the specs on it, though. I'd hate to run around under the city and only get a whole lotta darkness for it."

"...right," Donatello muttered, but the problem of the camera distracted him from his little brother's teasing. "Hm. It looks like it's got night vision, but that's gonna get pretty washed out at this resolution. You're gonna want to take along a utility light, at least 30 lumens. I've got a few in the garage if you want to borrow one."

"Whoa, really?" Michelangelo beamed.

"You'll just have to charge it up again—"

Splinter put down his teacup with enough force to make them all look up.

When he didn't speak, they glanced at each other in confusion. Raphael looked at Leonardo, and for that instant, their antagonism vanished. Leonardo mouthed a question and Raphael shook his head. No, he hadn't spilled their secrets.

Then Splinter took a breath.

"Leonardo."

Cold dread filled him. Leonardo was aware of his brothers staring at him, but he couldn't make himself move. Splinter's tone was not the usual scolding for the rare instances that Leonardo disobeyed, but their father could mask his anger well behind a stony face.

"Master?"

"Come with me."

Splinter stood, head raised, and walked back to his room without glancing at his son. Leonardo's eyes widened, and he looked at his siblings in vague shock. Donatello reached out and squeezed his hand quickly.

Michelangelo's smile was weak. "It'll...it'll be okay, bro'. It's just Splinter."

When Leonardo looked at Raphael, his brother was stunned to feel like he was somehow a lifeline that Leonardo was reaching for and simply couldn't catch. It made no sense. Raphael should have been happy that Splinter had caught on to something being wrong. Maybe Splinter yelling could make Leonardo stop being a thief. But when Raphael opened his mouth to try to say something, anything, all that came out was the same promise.

"I never told," he breathed. "I swear it."

Leonardo's look said that he believed him. Splinter's walking stick knocked against the floor, making his startled look at the doorway seem all the worse. Without a word, Leonardo quickly followed Splinter to his room.

The door closed slowly with a final click.


	8. Chapter 8

Impossible to hear anything distinct behind Splinter's door, but they tried anyway, sitting frozen and straining to listen. A low voice—their father's—spoke for a moment. Then silence. Then Leonardo's voice. Splinter spoke again.

Silence.

Long minutes passed.

Michelangelo leaned forward, tipping his chair dangerously far.

"Think he knows?"

"Shhh," Donatello hissed.

"He couldn't," Raphael whispered. "He would've known about me, too."

"Shhh," Donatello hissed louder.

"Leo seemed scared of something, though."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Donatello sighed. "Will you two—?''

The door clicked, slowly falling open. Michelangelo's chair slammed back to the floor and all of them sat straight, staring at their empty plates, glancing out of the corner of their eyes at their father's room. The doorway loomed, shadowed and empty, with only the flickering glow of candles out of sight.

Leonardo appeared, staring at a point far beyond the floor. He put his hand on the doorframe, mouth slightly open as he tried to form words. Just as he took a breath—

"Donatello." Splinter called from inside the darkness. "Come here."

Snapping his mouth shut, Leonardo looked like he'd been slapped. Donatello shared one more look with his siblings, all antagonism erased, then stood.

Still wincing at the curt tone of his father's voice, Leonardo walked by his brother as if in a daze. At Donatello's hand on his shoulder, Leonardo paused, touching his hand.

"Was it—?" Donatello started, then stopped, glancing at the door, hesitant to reveal anything.

Leonardo shook his head once, then let go and headed past him. At Raphael's whispered question, he visibly flinched and went to his room, not turning on the lights.

"Donatello." Calm, stern, Splinter's voice felt like steel.

"Sorry, sensei, coming!" Donatello no longer dawdled, jogging to the door and closing it behind himself.

"What the hell is going on?" Raphael said, sharing a dazed look with Michelangelo. "You think he—?"

"No way," Michelangelo whispered. "He would've scolded Leo in front of us. Calling us in like that...oh. Oh, no. Do you think he knows about...?

Raphael narrowed his eyes in confusion, and then his eyes turned impossibly wide. "About...us? I mean, Donny and Leo...? But then wouldn't he yell at all of us?"

Michelangelo bit his lip. "I mean, if he only figured out about them..."

"What?!"

Donatello's yell made them stand. In a fight, the sound of one of them crying out meant to stop and focus only on their brother. The habit had saved all of their lives at some point, but to hear it here in their home, with Splinter—their father...

Raphael took a step toward the door, but he couldn't bring himself to barge in. Splinter's room was too filled with the sense of his authority. But Donatello was behind that door and calling out. But Splinter—

Growling at his sense of helplessness, Raphael gave up on waiting to see if Splinter called him as well.

"Stay here," Raphael said, passing Michelangelo and following after Leonardo. He didn't have to barge in to Splinter's room if their big brother knew what was going on.

His brother's door was open. Swallowing once, Raphael leaned in, looking around. Bookshelves against the wall, but the cushions below them were empty. The low desk with a cushion for a seat...also empty. The paper lanterns his brother liked to use for light were off. In the back, the futon was also empty. But if he looked a little farther, there in the corner...

Quiet, moving slowly so his brother didn't think he wanted to fight, Raphael drew close, standing beside his brother as Leonardo sat pressed into the corner. His left hand slid against the wall as if trying to feel for a way out. His right hand lay flat against the floor.

"What is it?" Raphael asked, kneeling beside him. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to go," Leonardo whispered.

"'Go'? Where?"

Leonardo tried to breathe, drawing in only shallow breaths. His right hand pushed him tighter into the corner as he bowed his head, turning away.

"I don't..." He coughed. "I didn't catch all of it. It all went thin and high pitched when he said it."

"Said what?" Raphael huffed. "Leo—"

"He wants me to leave."

Raphael blinked. Stared at him in disbelief. Shook his head as if he had heard it wrong.

"Leave? Like, where?"

Leonardo moved his shoulder in a semblance of a shrug.

"I don't know. South...South America...something. He said something about...Guatemala..."

The idea was so sudden, so odd, that Raphael tried to remember if their master had said anything about South America in the past. Countries, drug trafficking, hell—even a single Spanish word beyond the occasional Mexican food Michelangelo cooked. Nothing.

"Why the hell would he say that?" Raphael asked.

"Training," Leonardo said. "To be better."

Raphael was about to ask 'better at what?' but Leonardo beat him to it.

"I don't..." Leonardo leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "Better? What do I need to be better at that I have to leave for a year?"

"'A year'?" Raphael's jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

"He said it would be a..."

Leonardo stopped. Lifting his head, he looked up at his brother as a terrible thought occurred to him. After a second, Raphael realized what his look meant.

Four months alone had loosened the locks Leonardo had placed on himself. After a year, what would he be when he returned? If he returned.

The previous taste of freedom had turned poisonous to his brother. Leaving the family he loved...

"I don't want to go away," Leonardo whispered, his voice breaking.

Raphael sat down next to him, putting an arm around him. Leonardo didn't move, but Raphel felt the ragged breaths shaking him.

"You can't go."

As soon as he said it, Raphael knew how impossible that was. Leonardo obeyed their master. His thievery didn't contradict anything Splinter had said or taught them, not the letter of the law at least. Even Raphael, who liked to talk back and question Splinter's decisions, still followed them. If Splinter commanded their brother to go—

Gathering his legs under himself, Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut. Took a long shuddering breath, then let it out again. Breathed in. Out.

In.

And ran.

Raphael startled back, astonished at how fast he moved. Outside, Michelangelo called out something, audibly pushed his chair across the floor. The sound brought Raphael out of his surprise and he darted out, coming up short just by his own bedroom.

At the main door, Leonardo froze, glancing back at him. In his hand was the black scarf.

Raphael put his hand up, but just like his dream, he moved too slowly. Leonardo vanished into the darkness.

"Dammit!"

Ducking into his room, Raphael grabbed the pieces of his armor from beneath his bed and ran out after his brother.

Another advantage Leonardo held, Raphael realized, was that his big brother only needed to throw that scarf around himself. Raphael had to pause to step into his suit, zip it up—then step into his boots and buckle them. Although he'd worked the process down to only half a minute, he felt every one of those thirty wasted seconds. Leonardo could cross a dozen buildings in that time.

Then Raphael was sprinting, shouldering the pauldrons and drawing the straps taut across his plastron. Then his armguards, the steel plates, his helmet—he was at the storm tunnel at last, and he looked down each street that radiated away from him, scanned the walls of every building around him. Nothing. Clenching his jaw, he looked up to the rooftops—

No, the streetlamps. Against the gold sky of the setting sun, the flutter of black cloth drew his eye, the tattered edge waving in the wind. A row of streetlamps lined the road, and Leonardo climbed up the closest one, crouching on the top where the light didn't reach. Traffic was light, but the large mail delivery van coming closer was his obvious target.

Raphael knew he couldn't stop him in time. Instead he pulled his bike out of the storm tunnel and threw his leg over the side, kickstarting the engine in one thrust. As he navigated the cracked, graveled ramp, he spotted his brother timing his jump and landing on the van.

Spinning his bike in a one-eighty turn, Raphael skirted the edge of the heavy traffic barriers and drove after his brother, hanging just far back enough to spot his brother edging closer and closer to the rear. Raphael had to watch the traffic on either side of him and still keep close enough that he wouldn't lose Leonardo along the way.

Which was apparently over the bridge.

Across the Williamsburg bridge, the gold lights flashed overhead between the girders and cables. Raphael shook his head once. He'd thought that Leonardo would use the trains here or even head along the foot path. Instead his big brother was risking falling off a fast moving van in swift traffic in increasing darkness.

They made it across the bridge without incident, then continued down the street. Raphael wondered how long his brother would ride in that precarious position. Occasionally he saw Leonardo adjust his hold, turning his hand for a better grip. It wasn't an easy way to travel. Exposed to the winds, the confusion of light and sound, it would be all to easy for him to fall off.

Several blocks into lower Manhattan, the van made a left turn. That had to be the wrong way because Leonardo leaped as it slowed down, tucking into a roll and narrowly dodging a speedy coupé that ran the red light. Then Leonardo was up and running along the sidewalk into Roosevelt park. There were just enough trees and bushes that he could use for cover.

Raphael almost considered driving in after him, but there were still people inside and he wouldn't run the risk of hitting them. Instead he trailed along the street, falling a little behind as he kept from hitting cars around him, somehow keeping Leonardo in sight. Then falling further behind—there was a taxi parked in the bike lane and yelling cyclists to avoid, and then a fenced off curb under construction, and then a person in a motorized wheelchair who thought she could use the road like a car.

By the time he'd swerved or roared past every obstacle, he realized he'd lost his brother. He came to a stop at the corner, cursing and looking up and down the road. Nothing. No scarf, no oddly familiar shadow. Leonardo was—

Raphael blinked.

—standing on the opposite corner, leaning against a rusted mailbox, watching him.

Why was he—?

A heavy truck passed between them. Raphael hissed in a breath, startled as it flew by, and when it passed, his brother was no longer there.

Cursing, he glared at the truck...and found Leonardo holding onto the truck's rear locks. The steel rods that sealed the back doors provided enough of a handhold that he could hang on, at least while he wasn't jolted from the latches he was standing on. Precarious at best, that position would mean death if he fell.

Over his shoulder, from the corner of his eye, Leonardo made certain that Raphael saw.

"What are you doing?" Raphael whispered, revving the engine and following once again.

This time there were no detours, no sudden turns. The road roared below them, every crack and pothole rattling the truck and forcing Raphael to turn so he didn't wipe out. They passed block after block, finally coming up on Central Park, and Raphael wondered how far Leonardo intended to ride.

The truck swerved to miss a cyclist. Raphael froze as Leonardo lost his grip, sliding off the side—

Eyes widening, Raphael put his hands up to block as his brother didn't fall but stepped off into the air, landing on his bike's handlebars. Leaning back managed to counterbalance Leonardo's sudden weight, just barely, and then his brother was stepping on his shoulder and down onto the pavement.

Raphael put his foot on the ground and swung his rear wheel in a broad arc, riding up on the curb. His brother was sprinting, desperate to put as much distance between them as he could before Raphael's bike gave him all the advantage. They cut straight across the street, but Raphael pulled up short as Leonardo used a bench to run up and over something he couldn't see.

Ditching his bike beside the bench, he followed his brother, only spotting the low black fence as he went over. Now it was a straight chase across grass, Leonardo only ten or fifteen feet ahead. Raphael huffed as he ran. His brother didn't have on heavy armor, but then Raphael had been riding easy for the whole way.

He unslung his chain, spinning it for momentum before swinging it out.

"Here it comes!" he yelled, unable to bring himself to trike without giving his brother one warning.

Leonardo dove beneath the chain, rolling once and coming up again. He cut to the right, and only now did Raphael realize where they were.

The Museum of Natural History, with old architecture that gave Leonardo plenty of handholds as he broke right and all but ran up the side of the wall. Window ledges, decorative brick work and stone railings gave Leonardo a ladder up to one of the windows at the very top floor.

For a moment, Raphael thought his brother would smash the glass. He grabbed the first ledge, grunting as he hauled himself up to the second floor. As he climbed, he looked up and spotted a glint of light in his brother's hands. A knife, he realized. Leonardo was cutting something—

Gleaming, a square pane of glass tumbled past him, shattering on the ground. Raphael looked over his shoulder at the glimmering shards, then back up.

"The whole damn window?" he demanded.

Leonardo didn't answer, sliding in through the round hole he'd cut. Raphael cursed as the scarf slipped in like a snake following his brother. There were thousands of treasures inside that museum! Who knew what Leonardo was stealing, plucking out of their cases and sinking into his satchel?

He'd reached the third floor when the alarm blared. Lights came on in the entire wing, and then shutters slammed over every window. Raphael snapped his hand back, leaning out into empty air to look up. The fourth floor had been sealed up as well. How did his brother plan to—?

The fourth floor window rattled once, twice—the shutter exploded outward. Raphael recognized his brother's work, the steel frame bent in the precise center as it arched out in a straight line before falling. He dropped his chain again, swinging it faster and faster. First a kick to clear the escape route, and then—

Like clockwork, his brother leaped out into the air, plummeting headlong in a dive. Raphael gasped in horror even as he swung his chain. If he missed—if Leonardo landed like that—

Leonardo twisted, catching the end of the chain, and then he was swinging in a broad arc toward the grass. Raphael yelled as his arm felt nearly yanked out of its socket, shouldering Leonardo's weight and momentum, until his brother let go and rolled again.

"Ow ow ow ow..." Raphael groaned, dropping down one ledge to the next, favoring that arm. Even the straps across his plastron felt stretched out of shape.

There was no time to feel pain. Leonardo was already across the grass to the sidewalk. Raphael growled and landed heavily, lumbering across the soft ground until he could jump the fence and run on the concrete. His bike was too far back to retrieve. He'd have to chase his brother down on foot.

The streetlight was with them as they ran across the road, behind the row of cars so that they were black silhouettes against red taillights. A row of eateries lined the building directly ahead, their outdoor tables covered by an overhang that Leonardo leaped, using the fire escape to head to the roof. Careful to land on the overhang supports so he wouldn't fall through, Raphael followed up.

Here the buildings were tightly packed together. Raphael easily stepped from one to the next, but after a moment, he realized he didn't see his brother. There were no lights up here, and the glow from the streets didn't reach so high. Raphael turned a circle, scanning the rooftops, searching for even the smallest movement—

Something knocked against his helmet, and he spotted a small stone rolling to a stop at his foot. He looked up and saw his brother standing on the top of a roof access, directly in the white light of the moon.

Raphael narrowed his eyes. Was his brother playing with him? This was the second time he'd lost him, and the second time that Leonardo made sure that the chase continued—but slower now.

Both of them were winded, audibly breathing hard, and Raphael finally came into his own. A light build meant that Leonardo's sprints easily outpaced him, but in a long distance chase, Raphael had the power to force himself to keep going. Raphael kept gaining, bringing Leonardo closer to arm's reach.

Leonardo halted, his hands slapping the ledge as he looked over the wide street. Left and right, nothing but street five stories below. He turned, heading for the tall high rise beside them, but he came too close as Raphael cut diagonally.

Raphael's hand closed with a satisfying grip over Leonardo's forearm. His brother's startled cry turned into a yell as Raphael threw him against the wall, his shell slamming hard against the brick. There was a brief scrabble—Leonardo's uppercut knocked off Raphael's helmet—and then Raphael had caught his other wrist, forcing his brother's hands up by his head. Raphael leaned all his weight against him, one knee against Leonardo's, pinning him so his movements became very small.

They stood like that, panting for breath, standing nearly flush against each other. Leonardo tilted his head back, looking up at the sky, while Raphael pressed harder against him, holding him securely as he tipped his head, resting against the bricks.

"Tenacious bastard," Leonardo breathed. "Starting to think...you just like chasing me."

"You made sure I didn't lose you," Raphael said between breaths. "I'm starting to think..that you like being caught."

"Don't flatter yourself," Leonardo hissed. "I'm not caught."

"Oh yeah?"

Raphael squeezed just enough to make Leonardo yelp. The token struggles were so light that Raphael barely felt him moving against himself.

Plastron to plastron, holding his brother prisoner, Raphael forced him to stand still, acutely aware of Leonardo's physical presence. In forcing his arms up, he'd forced Leonardo on his toes, and even then his brother was looking up at him. The scarf lay between them, soft and light in the wind, still draped around Leonardo's shoulders, a dark hood over his face.

Under that hood, his brother's eyes promising violence if he was let go should have been all the excuse Raphael needed to beat him senseless. And he might have if Leonardo's eyes hadn't been so bright. Raphael studied his face, seeing the faint signs of emotion that his brother struggled to hide.

Donatello had been right. Raphael had known Leonardo for nineteen years. He knew all the subtleties of his brother's body, the way he fell silent when cornered. The ways he lulled his enemies into dropping their guard. And the way a drawn out fight peeled back every layer and left him painfully vulnerable.

Pinned down with nowhere to hide, Leonardo blinked too rapidly, struggled stupidly when he knew he couldn't slip free.

Raphael tilted his head. This theft, running around the city and smashing windows, had nothing to do with Raphael and everything to do with Splinter.

In his hands, Leonardo trembled, grimacing as his emotions began to win out.

Raphael knew that feeling all too well. And Michelangelo always had the same solution to make it better.

Raphael closed the inches between them and stole a kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

At first Leonardo turned rigid, too surprised to react. Raphael pressed his advantage, leaning a little harder as his brother squirmed. He knew how this worked from his own nights with Michelangelo. Raphael would grumble, Michelangelo persisted, and then Raphael would give in.

So when Leonardo pressed against him, letting him take and demanding more, Raphael smiled around the kiss.

Finally, finally, something was going right.

Until he flinched at the sharp pain spreading through his lip, wrenching back with a hiss. He tasted a tiny drop of blood and looked up in shock at his brother.

A small smear of blood stained Leonardo's lip, underscoring his wide eyes, his quickened breath that wouldn't slow down. He flicked his tongue over his lips once. Leonardo's eyes burned bright, and his rapid blinking made obvious the tears he'd been trying to hold back. But his mouth was open in clear invitation, for another kiss, another bite...probably both.

Vulnerable or not, his brother was still dangerous.

"You're turning into a real hot mess," Raphael whispered, tightening his grip on his brother's wrists. "You know that, right?"

Leonardo's look turned sullen.

"What did I do wrong?" Leonardo demanded as if his brother held answers. "What the hell did I do that was so wrong?"

"Um," Raphael said, shifting his grip as Leonardo twisted. "Let's see. Stealing things, dragging Donny into it, baiting me, busting into a damn museum..."

"Not that!"

Raphael stopped, realizing this wasn't about Fantasma. He looked down and saw that he wasn't pinning Leonardo so much as simply holding him up. Leonardo sagged against his cold armor, unable to catch his breath.

"Splinter didn't know about any of that," Leonardo growled, his voice increasingly clouded by frustration. "He said...I couldn't...that I'd couldn't..."

Raphael growled. Patience wasn't his strong suit, but holding his brother in check felt satisfying enough that he could indulge in waiting.

"Couldn't what?"

"That I couldn't put distance between me and you," Leonardo said. "That I couldn't..."

"'Distance'?" Raphael echoed. "What's that even-?"

"I don't know!"

Leonardo broke. Raphael startled at the animal sound of his brother's voice, tightening his grip so that Leonardo hissed in pain even as he spoke.

"He wouldn't say! He kept saying I was too close to you, that I was too close to all of you, and that if I couldn't keep that distance, then..."

Leonardo shook his head once, uselessly. Helplessly.

"Then I couldn't lead you."

Raphael couldn't answer. He wanted to say that Leonardo had ruined that himself, that Raphael wouldn't follow a thief and a liar. And he wanted to say that he'd force Leonardo back into shape, back into something recognizably his stuck up older brother. That if Leonardo just gave up stealing, then Splinter wouldn't have to send him away.

But that wasn't the real problem.

Splinter didn't know about the stealing, and if Raphael was honest with himself, Splinter would probably encourage Leonardo to steal from the Foot clan instead. No, this had to do with Leonardo being close to his brothers.

Too close to Donatello. Too much of a brother to Michelangelo.

And with Raphael, too much...something. Whatever this weird love hate between them was. Leonardo no longer fought, letting Raphael all but crush him against the wall. Staring up at him in vulnerable expectation. It was Raphael's move, and Leonardo waited to see what he would do.

It was a heady rush of power which Raphael didn't taste all that often. He wondered if he'd risk another kiss, that maybe Leonardo would give in—

As he bent, focused on his brother's mouth, Raphael almost didn't feel Leonardo yanking against his hand. Grunting, Raphael drove his knee between his brother's legs, forcing himself uncomfortably close even as his hands clamped tighter over Leonardo's wrists.

"S'fighting dirty," he grumbled.

"Nothing dirty in a fight," Leonardo said, unable to move, pressed as he was between the hard wall and his brother's armor. Their breath mingled as they tried to stare each other down. "'Cept the floor."

"You ain't gonna make this easy, are you?" Raphael said.

A grim smile was his answer. Somehow that made more sense to Raphael than anything else his brother had said or done. He recognized that look from his mirror. When the frustration washed over him like the walls closing in, a bloody fight could distract him. Pounding thugs made life easier to swallow. And now he saw that same desperate need in his brother's eyes, all but begging Raphael for a fight, anything, to distract him from the world.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," Raphael muttered.

Holding his brother tight, Raphael forced him sideways. He tried to bring him down but instead he could only control their fall as they hit the rough floor. Leonardo kicked at his knees, even going so far as trying to bite Raphael's hand. Raphael snatched back and delivered a hard open palm across Leonardo's face.

"How come," Raphael grunted, struggling to grab Leonardo's wrist again, "you don't fight this dirty in front'a Splinter?"

Leonardo didn't answer, shifting on his side so he could claw at Raphael's other hand. The armor made this almost impossible. He would have needed a knife to work into the joints of Raphael's steel plating, and he hadn't tried to use any of the small shuriken on his belt.

Leonardo's attempt to free his hand worked in Raphael's favor. With a simple shift in weight, Raphael shoved Leonardo onto his front and straddled his shell. Too late, Leonardo felt what little control he had left slipping away as one hand was pulled behind his back. Steel ringed his wrist and clicked tight. Then his other hand, and Leonardo used every ounce of strength he had left to hold his free hand out, straining as it was slowly pulled down to his side.

"Quit fighting," Raphael muttered. "I'll break it, I swear I will..."

Leonardo cried out as his shoulder twisted, the same one that had been struck before. Squeezing his eyes shut, he finally slumped as pain robbed his last bit of strength. His arm was wrenched up behind his shell, and the handcuffs snapped shut around his wrist. When Raphael hauled him up to his feet, his hands were firmly locked behind his back.

Up on his feet only to be turned and pushed against the wall again. Leonardo didn't resist, still taking deep breaths. When he turned slightly to one side, Raphael punched the wall so that tiny bits of dust sifted from his knuckles. Leonardo flinched.

"Do I get beat up when I can't even block?" Leonardo murmured.

"You'd deserve it," Raphael said. He put his hand against Leonardo's chest to hold him still. "You gonna make me hit you?"

Leonardo didn't answer for a long moment, swallowing once, fighting Raphael's splayed hand to take deep breaths. His head lowered slightly.

"...no."

Raphael narrowed his eyes. His brother wasn't above lying, not in a fight. He didn't like the long shadows across Leonardo's face, making it hard to see the subtleties of his expression. Still holding his brother against the wall, Raphael reached up and put his thumb under the edge of the scarf. Slowly he pushed the black cloth back, letting it fall in a loose circle around Leonardo's neck.

He didn't let it slide off. He needed the scarf there, the reminder that his brother had broken into a museum, stealing yet again. He couldn't afford to dwell on Leonardo's shock at whatever Splinter had said to him. They'd deal with that later.

"You gonna fight me anymore?"

Raphael put his fingers under Leonardo's chin and tilted his head slowly, raising his face if not his eyes. Leonardo wouldn't look at him.

"Who knows?"

Raphael narrowed his eyes.

"Not the answer I wanna hear."

"For someone who complains about me not listening," Leonardo snapped. "You've got a real one track mind."

"Yeah, well, you still ain't listening." Raphael shook him once as if he could shake sense into him. "Why the hell did you lead me on a wild goose chase across town, huh? You could'a lost me like three times back there."

Leonardo half-smiled. "Yeah, huh?"

"What, are you trying to prove something? Being a thief ain't nothing to be proud of..."

Raphael put his hand on Leonardo's side, not willing to break eye contact as he felt for his brother's satchel. He started to frown, moving his hand up to his brother's neck, tightening in frustration as Leonardo's smile spread.

"Not proud of what I do," Leonardo said. "But maybe how I do it."

"You dumped the bag?" Raphael said. "Where—"

"Oh, don't bother," Leonardo said. "I didn't steal anything tonight."

"For fuck's sake, Leo, I watched you—"

"You saw me smash but you didn't see me grab," Leonardo said, and his tone dripped with condescension. "I didn't bring the bag."

"Then what?" Raphael said, tightening his hand around his brother's throat enough to make him wince, to wipe that damn smile off his face. "What'd you do?"

Below them, the sound of police sirens came close, wailing by as their lights colored the street. Partly hidden by the strange flurry of shadows thrown up around them, Raphael turned a darker shade of crimson and Leonardo stood outlined in foreboding blue.

"Slipped a chunk of street pavement in with the meteorites," Leonardo said, tilting his head to try to squirm out of Raphael's grip. "How long you think it'll take 'em to notice?"

Raphael stared at his brother blankly.

"You...slipped it in?"

His hand relaxed. Leonardo huffed in relief, standing more on his own two feet now. He didn't lean against Raphael anymore, obediently staying still.

"Well, there is a buyer for the Guffrey meteorite, but since I don't want to cart a seven hundred pound rock..." Leonardo shrugged.

Over Raphael's shoulder, the lights whirled beneath them. Several more police cars joined the others, accompanied by the harsh single note of the sirens on stand-by. Radios crackled in and out as the murmur of the growing crowd grew and grew. Every light in the museum was on, lighting the sky. All for a cheap prank.

"Why?"

Leonardo stared at him.

"You don't get to stay quiet," Raphael said, looming over him. "Why'd you do all this? Why'd you make sure I was following you? Why...Jesus, Leo. We can talk it out with him. It ain't the end of the world."

Leonardo didn't answer, but his eyes tightened slightly and his face settled into something like defeat. He took a long breath, lowering his face.

When he looked up again, his expression was as focused and stoic as ever. Raphael began to feel like his brother's usual expression was more of a mask than he'd realized.

"Thanks for coming after me," Leonardo said in a soft voice. "I couldn't...I didn't want to think about what he said."

That, at least, Raphael could understand. He laughed once, awkwardly.

"Hell, if you just needed to blow off steam," he started.

"No," Leonardo said, lifting up on his feet so he could press a little closer. "Not just that..."

This time the kiss was slow, hesitating. Leonardo wasn't sure if Raphael would try to crush him again, only gaining confidence as his brother held still. Leonardo put his hands on his brother's shoulders, steadying himself as he swayed.

"Too damn tall," he murmured around the kiss.

"Can't help it if you're short," Raphael said.

He broke off, leaning back, moving to put his hands on his brother's waist—

Something clanked as his right hand jerked against something cold. He looked up and found a handcuff around his wrist, the other end cicling a steel pipe affixed to the wall.

His eyes widened.

Leonardo's hands were on his shoulders.

But not anymore—his instant of realization gave Leonardo the split-second he needed to slip free, ducking his outstretched hand and backing away.

"Sorry," Leonardo said, lifting the scarf back over his face. "But I need some time alone now. To think."

Already knowing he wouldn't find it, Raphael put his hand to his built in pouches, searching for the key. He found it sparkling in Leonardo's hand.

"Don't worry," Leonardo said. "I don't plan on leaving you out here."

"You know I can break this," Raphael said, holding the chain while he yanked at the pipe. Cement dust crumbled from under the steel rivets holding the pipe against the brick.

"Eventually," Leonardo agreed.

He stepped up on the ledge, unfurling the scarf so that the long ends trailed against his side, covering him comfortably. He looked back over his shoulder at the street behind himself, noting the path he would follow, then turned to Raphael again.

In an gentle lob, he tossed the key across the roof to bounce and slide at Raphael's feet.

"I just wanted a headstart," Leonardo said.

As Raphael bent to pick up the key, Leonardo fell backward out of sight.

When Raphael reached the ledge, leaning out as if those few inches would let him see farther, his brother was gone.

* * *

When Splinter's door opened again and Donatello appeared out of the darkness, Michelangelo stood, but he couldn't bring himself to move closer. Donatello stared at the far wall, moving in a daze, and he sat down again at the kitchen table. None of the dishes had been moved, and now he pushed his half-eaten portions aside, ignoring how the plates jangled against each other, clearing a space to lay his head in his arms.

Not sure what to do, Michelangelo pulled his chair closer and sat beside him.

"Donny?" he whispered, glancing at the door to make sure they were alone. "You okay?"

Donatello buried his face farther into his arms.

"No," he said, muffled. "No, not really."

Michelangelo put his hand on Donatello's, squeezing once.

"Mikey," Donatello murmured. "Do you think I could lead you or Raph?"

Michelangelo snorted despite himself. He put his hand over his mouth almost instantly, but it didn't matter. Donatello nodded once as if that confirmed what he already thought.

"Yeah..." He sighed and sat up, head tilted as if he would crumble under sudden weight. "That's what I figured."

"Is that what Splinter called you in about?" Michelangelo asked.

"Leo didn't tell you?"

Donatello pushed himself up. He glanced around the lair, suddenly aware of the silence.

"They left?" he asked.

"Leo ran out," Michelangelo nodded. "With the scarf."

"And Raph ran out after him," Donatello said, not needing to see Michelangelo's nod to know he was right. "Dammit."

"Don'?"

"I don't want to be alone right now," Donatello said. Then winced. "I don't want to be alone for a year. I don't..."

Michelangelo's face knotted up in confusion. No one had told him anything, but what he pieced together from Leonardo running away, Donatello's broken comments and the fact that Splinter had separated them out...none of it added up to anything good. Nothing he could change, anyway.

"Do you want to-" he started.

"No," Donatello said firmly. "I don't."

He coughed once, swallowed as he steadied himself.

"I don't want to think about it. I can't. It's too much right now. Maybe later. But right now, I..."

Donatello looked up at him with large eyes. Michelangelo froze, not used to seeing that expression. Donatello was calm, rational, as steady as the machines he built. To see him grasping at nothing...

"Come on."

Michelangelo stood up, one hand on Donatello's shoulder. He motioned at the camera.

"You said you have flashlights I can use. Let's go looking around."

Donatello frowned. "You mean underground?"

"Underground, topside, wherever." Michelangelo shrugged, offering his hand. "Come on. You know they'll be out for ages. Let's head off for a bit."

Donatello looked at his hand, brow knitting as he thought about leaving. He wanted Leonardo with him, holding him, saying it would be okay somehow. And while he understood why his brother had run, he found his fist clenching that his brother couldn't wait a few minutes to talk to him. Curl up on his shoulder. Complain and vent and scheme together.

"Yeah," he said, taking Michelangelo's hand. "I'll just leave a note. Get my gear. You got good batteries in that thing?"

"Yup," Michelangelo said. "And spares. And spares for the spares. I was thinking of looking for the missing train first..."

"That's just a myth..."

Side by side, they left through Donatello's lab, gathering his toolbag, his shellcell, flashlights, enough supplies to occupy his mind as he pulled up old maps on his computer and pointed out all the likely places for a train to vanish. As much as Michelangelo wanted to ask about what Splinter had said, what Leonardo had done, instead he asked about what route Donatello wanted to take. If they would need climbing gear.

When they left, leaving a note on the table that they were off to film part one of Mikey's Urban Ninja youtube series, Donatello wasn't smiling, but he wasn't drowning under whatever Splinter had put on him, either.

Michelangelo hoped that when Raphael brought their brother home, Leonardo wouldn't be collapsing in on himself, either.

But Leonardo didn't come home that night.

Or the night after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note: new chapters are taking awhile because teaching is insane right now - I've been grading 'till 8pm on Fridays. Please don't ask me to "update soon." That just makes me even more depressed and incapable of writing.)


	10. Chapter 10

On the camera screen, grainy footage came in and out of focus. The camera tilted wildly, pointing at the ground for a moment as someone adjusted the resolution, and then came up again to better film what was now obviously a brick wall. A row of lights evenly dotted the wall near the ceiling.

"Dude." Michelangelo breathed out in surprise. "Check out the far wall. Are those electric lights still burning?"

From somewhere out of sight, Donatello answered.

"I don't think those are electrical. I think it's holes in the wall. They would have put long rivets or screws through the bricks to anchor either track lighting or electrical casings, but those rusted over time. The screws fall out and you get little shafts of light left behind."

"Cooool."

The video blurred, then sharpened, zooming in on what was now obviously cracked mortar. The camera slowly swept across piles of debris and the broken beams in the ceiling where parts of the ceiling had caved in.

"Dunno how far we wanna go in. That roof doesn't look all that steady."

"I don't think we want to climb over all that stuff, either. Very loose. It could shift under you and then a hundred years of rusted steel is falling on top of you."

"Then we can just film here. I mean, you found the train. That's pretty amazing in itself."

"Dude, right? Okay." Michelangelo took a deep breath and put on his best presenter voice. "We're under the old Atlantic Avenue tunnel, also known as Cobble Hill. Not easy to find, but hey, that means no security guards, right? They used to give tours here, but as you can kinda see, the ground is really dangerous and the ceiling looks like it might come down any minute."

"Don't exaggerate," Donatello said. "It's not that bad unless there's an earthquake."

"Which could totally strike at any moment," Michelangelo added. "Don't listen to my brother. He's a big worry wart usually. Not as bad as my other brothers, but yeah."

"Hey, you invited me to come—"

"Anyway, there was always a kind of legend that there was a train walled up somewhere down here, kinda like that episode of Thomas the Tank Engine. Seriously, that was one messed up kids show. Who the heck walls up someone—?"

"Focus, Mikey."

"Yeah, yeah, you realize I gotta bleep that out." Michelangelo sighed and kept talking to the audience. "Okay, sorry about the little jump cut—my bro' said my name and I wanna keep this totally anonymous. Too risky legally, know what I'm saying?"

"Sorry, sorry." Donatello huffed. "I'm not used to having to watch what I say."

"It's the first time I brought a camera with us," Michelangelo said for the audience. "But me and my bros do this so often that this is pretty normal. Discovering weird new things, I mean. Like, Donny is sweeping the light over—oh dammit, I did it this time."

"S'okay, just go straight to the train."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, so here's the train. You can kinda make out the shape of it in the light, but dude, that is one deep tunnel there. We brought a huge flashlight and it's barely reaching the bell back there. But if you look close, you can also make out the...what is that?"

"The smokestack," Donatello said. "You can see its axles just above the rails, but the whole thing is really rusted over. There must have been a flood, or lots of floods. Look, you can even see the high water mark on the walls. Good thing there hasn't been a storm for awhile."

"Man," Michelangelo sighed, tilting the camera and annoyed at how the dark swallowed up the light. "I really wanna get in there. This thing is practically mythological! No fair that I can't get in for a good look."

"Well..."

Donatello's voice bore all the exhaustion of months and years of creating machines for his brother, and all the hesitation of someone who simply can't say no.

"If you got your hands on a drone," Donatello said. "I could put a camera on it. It doesn't have to be a great drone, just one that hovers pretty steady."

"Really?"

If they could have recorded themselves, the audience would have seen Michelangelo's big puppy eyes focused squarely on Donatello. With a long suffering sigh, Donatello turned and started leading the way from the train, heading down another tunnel. Behind him, Michelangelo turned the light to its dimmest setting and pointed it down, blocking most of the light.

"It would have to be steady," Donatello said, cautioning him, trying to put limits on the sun and the moon that might Michelangelo might ask for. "Nothing expensive, but it can't be junk, either. It needs to be reliable."

"That means we'll have to test it out, right?" Michelangelo grinned. "That means we can fly it all through the underground to make sure it's good. I can take shots of the lair—"

"Not if you don't want Leo to brain you."

"He'd never so much as bruise me," Michelangelo said. "But Raph...now him, I'll have to hide from after I buzz him a few times."

"No buzzing anyone," Donatello said.

"Aw, but Donny..."

"You buzz Raph and he'll pin the poor drone to the wall."

"Yeah, that's probably true. We could—"

A light had swung down the tunnel and vanished again.

They both fell silent. Someone was moving further in the tunnel.

"How far do you think that was?" Michelangelo whispered.

"Too far to tell," Donatello whispered back. "This tunnel has three main access points. But I'll bet it's down near the end. They probably didn't even hear us."

"Should we follow them?"

Donatello grimaced. He did not like being in the position of taking charge.

"I don't like someone being down here and we don't know about it," Donatello said. "Um...what would Leo do?"

"Prance around like Zorro?"

"Mikey!" Donatello snapped, but he snickered despite himself. He didn't feel very charitable towards his brother, not after two nights of no communication. "That's not helping."

"Um, yell out something about justice and charge forward?"

"Not accurate. Raph got him to stop doing that."

"Never stops being funny." Michelangelo held up his hands as Donatello smacked him. "Ow, ow, okay, fine. Let's go all stealthy like and spy on them."

"Sounds good," Donatello said. "Keep the light off."

"Yeah, yeah." Michelangelo doused the light and hung it on his belt. "You're getting as gloomy as he is."

"I'd have to disagree with that," Donatello said, "since I'm not perched on buildings acting like Batman."

"Batman's not a thief," Michelangelo said. "Catwoman."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"Pfft. He doesn't like it, he can try staying home for more than a few days at a time." Michelangelo managed to whine even in a whisper. "Thinks he can disappear again and he hasn't been back more'n a couple weeks."

They were coming down the middle of the tunnel, now close enough to hear footsteps and the sound of men speaking in hushed tones. Michelangelo and Donatello clung to either side of the tunnel, bent low so that any stray light passed over them. A man's voice called out, startlingly loud in the still air.

"Speed it the fuck up—we're late as it is!"

"You carry these damn things and tell us to hurry," another one said. "How come I can't be the one with the paint?"

"You couldn't spray a straight line, how you gonna tag up doors anywhere? We'd be the Diablo Triangles if you did it."

"We don't gotta paint here anyway. Look, there's a mark here already."

Donatello and Michelangelo shared a look. The gang their brother was looking for, and they had stumbled onto a handful of them moving something. Nodding once, they wordlessly followed, trailing several meters behind as the gang alternated carrying and dragging a wooden crate down the tunnels.

"Driving this would've been a whole fuckton faster."

"And a fuckton easier to spot." Someone yelped as they were hit. "Glowing purple shit kinda stands out."

"Not in a truck, pinche guey."

"You gotta get it to the truck first, dumbass."

The dragging went on for some time. Then the sound stopped, and one of them jumped up to sit on the box. An aluminum can cracked open with a hiss. Donatello and Michelangelo recognized the sound from Raphael's beer breaks and squatted down to wait, listening as the men continued speaking.

"Hey."

"What?"

"How much you think it cost to grab this shit?"

"More'n it is to move it."

"Naw man, seriously. You've seen the site. It takes some serious bank to get some of these things. I bet you glowing stuff gets a thousand more, easy."

"Why? You thinking of turning into a thief?" A snort. "Too much work. I'd rather try pulling hits. That looks a lot easier."

"A lot cheaper, too. Come on, pendejo, wouldn't it be cooler to be all Ghosting through the city?"

"Ghosting? Man, you know that's just some newspaper trying to drum up sales."

"Fantasma's real! I know the guy that shot him."

"Wasn't no proof."

"Ain't no proof 'cause he's a ghost!"

"Ain't no body 'cause he don't exist."

"Look, vato. My cousin, last night, put two rounds right through him. He said it himself."

"I ain't buying it. No body, no proof."

The crate started sliding again. As they followed, Michelangelo glanced at Donatello, his eyes wide.

Donatello shook his head. They were trailing dangerous Diablo Puerto gang members. He couldn't let himself worry if their big brother had been shot and lay dying somewhere, especially since Leonardo didn't see fit to call for help.

A grate popped open overhead, and bright light filled the tunnel so that it lit several meters in both directions. The two turtles leaped backward, comfortably ensconced in the dark as more men jumped down, as ropes dropped in after them.

"Dude," someone called from above. "That looks heavy as hell. Why didn't you just drive it here?"

"That's what I said!"

Donatello tapped Michelangelo's shoulder, pointing up. With a nod, Michelangelo followed him back down the tunnel and around another curve, heading up a ladder and lifting the first manhole cover just enough to peer out of.

"Where are we?" Donatello called.

"Looks like right past the Mule's Kick bar," Michelangelo said. "Got a bunch of 'em going in and out the warehouse on the corner."

"So how come we never spotted them before?" Donatello said. "That's not far from April's place."

"It's not like on the 'corner' corner," Michelangelo said. "More like the corner of the alley. There's another place after that on the street, and then there's no real streetlights here. Hard to see."

"Okay, so we found it." Donatello stepped back so Michelangelo could drop down again, landing in front of him. "Now what?"

"Now we tell...oh, right." Michelangelo sighed and lightly punched his hand. "'Cause Leo's being all broody and gone, and Raph's being a sullen, moody brat."

"They're both being brats," Donatello said.

"Then I guess there's only one choice." Michelangelo struck a heroic pose. "We'll just have to go in and be badass enough to take on the whole damn gang. Two against many—ninja versus small army."

"Or we can drag Raph here."

Michelangelo huffed dramatically. "Or we can drag Raph here. I prefer standing behind a bullet proof tank, too."

They began the run home, putting as much distance as they could between themselves as the gang before they felt safe enough to chat normally. Very rarely did they meet humans or other creatures underground. Only when they passed the familiar traps and cameras that Donatello had set up did they begin speaking at their usual volume.

"It's not bullet proof," Donatello said. "Close, but not quite."

"Beats a scarf any day," Michelangelo said.

"He's not trying to deflect projectiles," Donatello said.

"Nope," Michelangelo said. "Just responsibility."

"Ouch." Donatello winced. "A little harsh? Splinter wants to send him away for a whole year."

Michelangelo sighed, not a little sigh for when Splinter caught him shirking his chores but a big one, usually meant when he missed an episode of Cat Warriors from Galoob.

"I get it," he said. "It sucks. But hiding ain't gonna convince Splinter he shouldn't go."

"Easy to say when you're not the one being sent away," Donatello said. "Or the one Splinter keeps staring at."

"I wonder how he even figured it out," Michelangelo said. "I mean, I wouldn't have guessed, ever. You guys hide it pretty good."

"So do you and Raph."

"Raph hides it good. He's kinda like a Tootsie Pop. Hard ass on the outside, big softy in the middle."

Donatello snorted. "If Raph wasn't such a hard ass, Leo might not've run off like this."

Michelangelo frowned. Donatello didn't grumble easily, and that sounded less hurt and more resentful. He couldn't let his brother stew on this. An angry Donatello was terrifying to behold.

Raphael would owe him for running interference.

"Look at it from Raph's point of view," Michelangelo said. "We've been taking down bad guys forever, and then suddenly Leo goes off like a super villain."

"He's not acting like a supervillain."

"Is he or is he not wearing a cape?"

"It's a scarf."

"And kilts are just plaid skirts," Michelangelo said.

"Well, Raph's off and playing supervillain, too."

"Whoa whoa whoa, he's playing superhero, thank you very much."

"Is he or is he not beating up random people and destroying property?"

"He's beating up bad guys!"

"There is no way in hell those people are getting trials and convictions. They could be tied up with a little note on them saying what they did—doesn't matter. Won't hold up in a court of law. Admit it—he's just tanking through the neighborhood blowing off steam. How's that much different from what stupid Fantasma's doing?"

"You know, you can be as big of a buzzkill as Leo sometimes."

They finally reached the lair, falling silent as they entered. Splinter and Raphael sat in front of the television, their brother looking increasingly awkward while Splinter glared at the screen.

"—gang warfare claims three more lives today after a deadly shootout between the Latin Kings and Diablo Puerto. In related news, police are refusing to confirm rumors about Diablo Puerto's involvement in the theft of radioactive material from Comvia Corps laboratories. Comvia Corps refused an interview and only replied through email, saying that they cannot comment on ongoing investigations—"

Raphael spotted his siblings and stood up quickly, hurrying away from the anger radiating from their father.

"Anything?" Raphael whispered.

Donatello frowned, biting his lip, and Michelangelo smacked Raphael's shoulder good-naturedly.

"Are you kidding?" he laughed. "We found it! It's a little hard to get at so Don's gonna order us a drone so we can fly it in—says it's too dangerous to creep in there ourselves—"

"Huh?" Raphael blinked.

"You know," Michelangelo said, glancing briefly at Splinter. "The train? The one I was looking for?"

Another long moment passed before Raphael's eyes widened in understanding. He leaned back, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, right, the train. The one that got buried. Right." He laughed once weakly. "So, uh, where was it? Was it where you expected it?"

"Kinda," Michelangelo said. "But we're gonna need your help moving some stuff over there. The gear we need'll be kinda heavy."

"Uh, sure. Right." Raphael coughed and glanced over his shoulder. "Um, sensei? Is it okay if I help them move their gear?"

"Of course," Splinter said, still staring at the screen. "I doubt that any of you will run away, after all."

All three of them winced. After respectful bows, they hurried past into Donatello's workroom, closing the door again.

"Holy crap," Michelangelo whispered. "Has he been like that all day?"

"You have no idea," Raphael hissed. "He said meditation ain't working for him today. He's barely left the tv. He was like sitting right on top of my Nightwatcher gear all day. I kept freaking out that he was gonna drop his cane and look under the couch and bam, then I'll be sent off to Mexico, too."

"Gautamala's not Mexico," Donatello said automatically.

"Whatever."

"Is your gear still under the couch?" Michelangelo asked.

Raphael shook his head. "Nah, he went to make tea a little while ago. Moved everything here while he wasn't looking. Geez, if he had caught me..."

"Oh, please," Donatello said. "You're not the one next on his hit list. I'm the one he knows Leo was with."

"'Was'?" Raphael wondered.

"Screw you," Donatello said, punching his shoulder. "I'm just as pissed with him, but I'm not hanging him out to dry, neither."

"But why's Splinter getting so angry?" Michelangelo asked. "He hasn't been like this in a long time."

"Uh, one of his sons is a criminal and screwing Donnie's brains out?" Raphael said.

"He does not—" Donatello started.

"Wait, he knows about the Ghost?" Michelangelo asked. "I thought he didn't know that part."

"He doesn't," Raphael said. "But he's not dumb. Leo takes off and suddenly the gangers are all over the news talking about Fantasma taking them out? Put two and two together, duh."

"It's not like we're the only colorful characters in the city," Donatello said, but he sighed as he said it. "Still. He hasn't been seen, right?"

"No, but you didn't hear the early report. That was just the condensed version. I ain't kidding—there's like ten, twenty guys all swearing that the Ghost beat 'em up and took whatever it was they were trying to steal—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Donatello said. "What'd he take?"

Raphael narrowed his eyes. "Seriously, Donnie?"

"Yes, seriously," Donatello said. "If I know what he grabbed, I might be able to reference it on the site. It might tell us where he'll go next."

"Or tell you how much it's worth." Raphael huffed. "Face it, you can't fence what you ain't got—"

A flush colored Donatello's face. "You self-righteous fucking—"

Michelangelo darted between them, pushing Donatello away and then holding Raphael at arm's length, digging in his feet as Raphael leaned hard.

"Quit it," Michelangelo snapped. "Both of you! This ain't helping!"

"Maybe caving in his teeth'll help," Raphael growled. "You ain't been running interference with Splinter all day. You got no idea how deep Leo's digging his damn grave right now."

"Uh, yeah, maybe I do," Donatello snarled. "You aren't the one Splinter's glaring at all the time. He might blame Leo, but he's looking at me like I'm crap."

"And Leo's out there alone and probably shot," Michelangelo said.

Donatello winced as Raphael looked down at their brother.

"What?" Raphael waited for an answer and only saw their hurt expressions. "What do you mean, 'probably shot'?"

"We..." Michelangelo sighed. "We came back 'cause we saw Diablo Puerto guys carting something back to their homebase. One of 'em said his cousin had put two rounds in the Ghost."

Raphael thought they might have more information than that. When nothing was offered, he grimaced.

"Hold on," he said, backing away and shaking his head. "I don't...that can't be right. That ain't true. 'Cause if it was, then we'd of heard about it, right? Dead mutant turtle would kinda make the headlines."

"He could be wounded," Donatello said. "I mean, he's stubborn enough to not call for help."

Raphael thought that over, meeting Donatello's gaze. Neither of them spoke, considering how their brother could occasionally behave just as recklessly as...well, as the rest of them.

"Fuck." Raphael heaved out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. "Shit. We gotta go find him."

"Find a ninja in New York? That ninja?" Michelangelo scoffed. "Not if he doesn't let us."

Raphael flinched. That came too close to the truth, even if he was chasing Leonardo just in arm's reach. How many times had his brother outrun him and then waited for him to catch up?

"But we do know where Diablo Puerto is," Donatello said. "If we take them out, Leo comes back home."

None of them responded to that. As soon as Leonardo came home, Splinter would order him away. For a year? Maybe it was better to have Leonardo hidden here in New York.

"Where are they?" Raphael asked.

"Right by the Mule's Kick bar," Michelangelo said. "The one by—"

"I know it," Raphael said. "Me and Casey swing by there sometimes."

"Of course you do," Donatello grumbled, then held his hands up as Raphael turned. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean that to come out so snarky."

"Right," Raphael said, but he didn't argue. "Okay, so what? We take 'em out tonight?"

"It's just one gang," Michelangelo said. "And we don't have to beat up everyone. Just take out the head dude and the rest scatter, right?"

"I don't think it's that easy," Donatello said. "But the sooner they're gone, the sooner Leo comes home."

Raphael frowned. "This...don't sound as good as what Leo usually comes up with."

"It does sound kinda more like a Raph plan," Michelangelo said.

But none of them could offer anything better.

They left the lair, carting heavy boxes and quietly inclining their heads to their master. Splinter watched them go, a stern wordless gaze as they closed the door again. Then he turned his attention back to the news again, waiting for any hint of his wayward son.

Diablo Puerto laid easy claim to the warehouse behind the bar. Two lookouts leaned against the corner, watching both alleys that converged on the old building. The windows had been covered with either plywood or old shutters. Several second story windows were broken and blocked with rusted metal cabinets or palettes. The few windows that they could see through showed several men moving back and forth.

"Can you tell how many?" Raphael asked, already clothed in his Nightwatcher gear.

"Not a clue," Donatello said. "Could be ten, could be a hundred."

On the roof of the bar, they crouched behind the high ledge and unloaded the boxes they had carried. Smoke bombs filled one of them, while Michelangelo curiously examined a strange oblong cylinder from the other box.

"So what's this?" he asked, tapping the pin at the top.

"Careful!" Donatello whispered. "It's a flash grenade. I don't have that many, and they're really explosive."

"Like a real grenade?" Raphael asked, taking two for himself.

"No, they just explode real loud and bright," Donatello said. "But they can burn, so throw it really far if you're going to use it."

"And don't throw it around us," Michelangelo said.

"And the other box?" Raphael asked.

"...medical supplies," Donatello said slowly. "Bandages, pain killers, the usual. Just in case."

Just in case of what did not have to be explained.

"So..." Michelangelo said. "Is it gonna be 3, 2, 1, go, or 3, 2, and 1 is go?"

"I think most of them are on the first floor," Donatello said. "Not that many moving around on top."

"I'll take the bottom," Raphael said. "Keep 'em busy. You two should go up high, find anything interesting, break everything else."

"You sure you'll be okay?" Donatello asked. "The armor's good, but it won't stop that many bullets."

"Who said they're gonna hit me?" Raphael said, audibly smiling as he gathered up a pair of flash grenades. "'Sides, I toss a couple of these in first, and they ain't gonna do squat."

"Okay," Michelangelo said. "So we know what we're doing, right? We're good to go?"

"I...I think so," Donatello said. His face said that he wished someone else was calling the shots.

"Hey, don't worry," Raphael said, clapping his shoulder. "We got this. And when we're done, we light this mofo up so bright they'll see it across...the...shit."

Donatello and Michelangelo glanced up at him, then followed his look across the rooftops to the next building over.

Silhouetted against the moonlight, Leonardo stood up from landing, brushing off his shoulders and flinching as he moved his arm too far. The scarf around him couldn't hide his limp as he came closer to the edge, staring at the warehouse. He hadn't seen his brothers, too focused on the hideout before him.

"Oh no," Donatello whispered. "He's hurt. He's—"

He moved to raise his hand, only to have it pushed down by Raphael.

"Don't you dare," Raphael hissed. "You want to get everyone's attention?"

"Dammit," Donatello whispered, fumbling with his communicator. "Dammit, dammit...come on, pick up, just—"

Before he could finish, Leonardo had backed up several feet, took a deep breath, and then sprinted to the edge. A vault, and then the sound of exploding glass as he crashed through one of the windows that they couldn't see.

"New plan," Raphael yelled over the sound of gunshots. "Go go go!"


	11. Chapter 11

Raphael took the quick route down the wall, using the rain gutter to guide himself and landing hard on the pavement. In front of him, the warehouse filled with yells and crashing wood and metal. Raphael pulled Donatello's flash grenades, wasting precious time gauging Leonardo's location. There were gunshots—far too many gunshots—no one could dodge them all—

Judging his brother's location by the screams, he broke the closest window and tossed in both flash grenades, one close, one farther in, turning his head as white light and thunder cracks filled the bottom floor. Before the smoke cleared, Raphael went through the window, sizing up the twenty men groaning and staggering around him.

"Gotta get me more of those," he said to himself, punching out the first two to his right.

His brother was nowhere to be seen, but Raphael couldn't see all the way to the end of the warehouse, putting his sai through two of them just so they would fall and give him a better view. A line of glass sparkled along the concrete. Leonardo would have hit the floor in a roll and come up sprinting, racing through a gauntlet of heavily armed men. The crashing and yelling farther in meant that his brother was still alive and able to fight, and Raphael had a moment's opportunity to look for his brother.

There! At the back wall, a half-dozen men struggling to aim at a shadow flowing between them.

Raphael frowned. Leonardo moved not like a fighter but like a thief—no heroic overhand swings, no low sweeps, no straightforward punches. Nothing straightforward. All angles, all motion. Bullets sparked on the stair's steel railing, bright flashes of molten gold and orange between the flowing black scarf, always missing the target only inches away. Somehow Leonardo managed to keep behind his attackers, always moving in circles to stand just at their shoulder, ducking a raised gun barrel and coming in close—another man dropped, hands pressed against his side as blood welled out, as Leonardo slipped by.

And then it was impossible to care about Leonardo when the fighting turned hot at the front. Too many men with guns, still staggering but bringing their barrels up in Raphael's direction. He was aware of an orange blur moving to his left, Michelangelo turning acrobatic tricks and splashing blood against the wall. That his little brother didn't make his usual quips and smart ass insults made Raphael's stomach sink.

This was why Leonardo should never have run off to play thief, he thought bitterly. Leonardo's plans, as much as he liked to complain, had layers—plan a, plan b, plan c, and plan shit run for your life. Their older brother spun out plans like second nature, able to see the whole battlefield even in the middle of the fight.

"Raph plans" were exactly what they sounded like. Find the enemy and charge. If it didn't work the first time, wipe the blood from his eyes and try again. Too dangerous to spend energy laughing at the enemy. Too dangerous to stand still for long, and they needed to reach the back of the warehouse right now.

Bullets whizzed close to his head, following his smooth arc as he used the wall as a springboard, punching his sai into one man's head, then out again. One more down. If he'd been less powerful, he might have worried about his weapons sticking fast into bone, but the one time his sai sank too far into a ribcage, he brought his foot up and pushed the body away into a gunman drawing a bead on Michelangelo.

Like Leonardo had said, nothing dirty in a fight. Not when it came to keeping each other safe.

A bullet grazed his shoulder, burning and spinning him half around. His hand was already up, using the momentum to send the sai into the other man's chest.

It was why Raphael hated trying to come up with plans. Plans meant putting his brothers into harm's way. Raphael could take a brutal amount of punishment that would leave his brothers faltering from pain. He was just bigger, broader. The same graze that Raphael could shake off could put Donatello on the ground.

He didn't see any flashes of purple, though, and the thought brought him a little hope. It was just him and Michelangelo, and his stupid older brother ahead somewhere. Donatello was wasted in a fight when he could just as readily—

The lights flickered and went out—perfect, Raphael thought—and suddenly the tide of battle turned.

Humans couldn't see in the dark, but ninja were trained for shadow work.

Now the bullets were as likely to hit a human as a turtle. With another crash of glass, the fight became even more one-sided.

"Did I miss anything?" Donatello asked, his bo slamming audibly into someone's gun to knock it away, then back into their head to put them down.

"Just Batman heading upstairs," Michelangelo said.

"Batman's a hero," Raphael grumbled. "More like freakin' Catwoman."

That brought a choke from Donatello, but Raphael didn't know why.

With the lights out, the gun flashes at the end of the warehouse stood out starkly. They had mopped up the last of the shooters here at the front, but clearly Leonardo had chosen to speed through the Diablo Puerto gang, counting on darkness and his own agility to avoid being hit. Several men lay on the floor, bleeding or squirming or silent, but more went up the steps after him, and more gunfire erupted from upstairs.

Raphael motioned for his brothers to follow.

"We gotta pull some of them away," he said, "give Leo a chance—"

He stopped, noticing that the flash grenades had left black burns along a low wooden table and the piles of paper money now smoldering and catching alight. The fires burned low, tiny flickers creeping up along a ratty sofa, over a heap of blankets, over a pile of neatly stacked hundred dollar bills. Toward a pile of empty and half empty liquor bottles spilled out across the floor. By the time he reacted, pulling a rug out from under a body and flinging it toward the flames, he was too late.

Michelangelo put his arm out, dragging Raphael backward as glass shattered and flames burst out of the impromptu Molotov cocktails. The blast was small, just enough to send out shards and flaming vapor, just enough to spread the flames out toward dropped guns, against broken wood pallets along the wall.

"Damn it," Raphael coughed, climbing back to his feet. "Clothesline a guy, why don'cha?"

"I thought you knew not to run toward a kaboom about to happen," Michelangelo said. "Donny—"

"Don't even," Donatello said, backing away from the growing fire. "Even if there are extinguishers, I don't know where they are or what's gas and electrical—"

"How long?" Raphael said.

"I can't—"

"More or less, Donny!"

"Well, it is all concrete," Donatello said, looking around as well as he could in the dark. His heart sank when he saw the mass of narrow pipes that climbed the wall like thick ivy. Already one of them was beginning to glow red.

"We need to get Leo and go," he said, already backing up. "Before this place does."

"Raph plan it is," Michelangelo said, waving his arm for them to follow. "Let's charge!"

"I'd kill for a Leo plan," Raphael grumbled, right on his little brother's heels as they headed to the back.

"Look on the bright side." Donatello used his staff to vault up the staircase, avoiding the handful of bodies on the steps. "Right now, a Raph plan's looking a lot like a Leo plan."

"Not exactly cheering me up."

Halfway up the stairs, Michelangelo yelped and vaulted into a handstand onto the railing, heading up on his hands as if it were a balance beam.

"Watch your step!" Michelangelo called over his shoulder. "Guess what Batman decided to drop?"

Raphael was up on the railing before he spotted the points of caltrops on the steps. No wonder the gangsters here on the stairs were stretched out on the stairs and screaming, all thoughts of the fight out of their minds. Caltrops, long inches of sharpened steel welded together, lay scattered all along the staircase, long enough to spear someone even through the rubber soles of a sneaker or boot. When the victim fell, his knees and hands would similarly be jabbed, until finally he lay on his side, blood spurting out from his ribs.

Raphael shared a look with Donatello.

"He don't fight like this," Raphael said lowly. "Not usually."

Donatello nodded once, not in agreement but to affirm that Leonardo did, on occasion, turn vicious.

"When he gets desperate," Donatello said. "It just doesn't happen often."

"So what part of this is desperate?" Raphael asked. "Being surrounded by a gang or running away from home?"

"I think they're kind of bleeding together," Donatello said. And winced. "Yikes, bad choice of words."

They came up onto the second floor, more of a wide steel catwalk that overlooked the expanse of the first floor increasingly lit by the fire below. Here the fighting grew tighter, more men crowded into less than a third of the space, and Raphael could barely spot his brother in the middle. Gunfire came in sporadic cracks now that any stray bullet could hit someone else, but the yells and angry cursing and the wild swaying of the gang told Raphael just had bad it must be in the center.

And then someone went backwards over the railing, screaming as he fell, hitting the floor with a wet thump.

"Sounds like he's still going," Raphael muttered. "Donny, Mikey, keep yanking guys off the side, make some fighting room."

"What're you gonna do?" Michelangelo asked, already climbing over the railing.

"Same thing as always," Raphael said, unfurling his weighted chain and swinging it overhead. "Charge."

One swipe of the chain took out three bulky men, splashing blood on the wall as all of them dropped with little more than a surprised whuff, their guns clattering to the floor. The next swipe took two teens, light enough that they followed the chain's momentum as they sprawled over.

Raphael started to grind his teeth. Michelangelo and Donatello were already making progress on their side, either pulling guys over the side or knocking them out so that they dropped where they stood. But that was one or two at a time, and while he'd taken out a handful already, this just wasn't making a dent in the force in front of him.

Even more annoying, the crowd hadn't noticed what was happening around their edge. Leonardo might have preferred fighting from the shadows, but Raphael liked his opponent to realize he was kicking their ass.

Again, he spotted Leonardo in the midst of the fight. Here his brother had no room for the fancy maneuvering he preferred, instead forced back to his swords, slicing handguns in half, slicing above eyes so that his enemies blundered into each other, blinded by bleeding headwounds.

Raphael rarely practiced with swords, preferring the short jabs of his sai, but he knew how to use a blade. More to the point, he knew how his own style of stabbing and slicing deep meant running the risk of the blade jamming in bone or deep tissue. Even his own sai occasionally stuck fast in someone's spin or shoulder. Raphael had the luxury of being strong enough to wrench his sai free, but Leonardo couldn't afford to slow down, not in such a tight crowd.

Even as he swung his chain, clearing the gang away with each hit, Raphael studied his brother's fighting. He would never tell Donatello, but he remembered the advice.

_Try actually watching him. You've lived with him for nineteen years. Stop acting like you're wearing blinders._

A thought was slowly forming. A raging fight was hardly the best place to try to study, but Raphael had a front row seat and, up this close, he couldn't help but see the change that had taken place.

Over two months away from his family, up to becoming the Fantasma, Leonardo had left behind his old habits—powerful thrusts, straight cuts, the solid punches and kicks that would break sternums and crush skulls. Instead he favored finding the shadows cast around him and hiding inside, stubbornly clinging to the darkness conveniently thrown by the fire growing below, somehow hiding in front of their faces. A glint of steel, his scarf trailing in the muzzle flash of a fired gun. Nothing more.

No wonder, Raphael thought. He always liked hiding better.

But the style had a weakness.

One misjudged cut, one step too far out into the light, and Leonardo wouldn't dodge the next bullet.

Their brothers had noticed the same and come up with their own idea of helping. Michelangelo leaned out on the railing, almost daring gravity to pull him off, and held his hand back as far as he could. Raphael spared a glance and felt himself pale.

"Mikey," he whispered in admiration, "you vicious son of a bitch."

"Fire in the hole!" Michelangelo yelled out, hurling his flash grenade as hard as he could into the midst of the gang, almost perfectly between Raphael and the wild shouting gang surrounding Leonardo.

This time, without a brick wall and only a few dozen men between him and the explosion, the flash forced Raphael to turn away. Even through his helmet, the sound made him startle back, the ending vibrations still reverberating through his chest.

He sucked in a breath, suddenly swinging the chain as hard as he could to clear the way, to somehow close the distance. He had armor. Leonardo only had that thin scarf.

And the men were on fire. Screams turned to high pitched shrieks as Diablo Puerto collectively started to burn. Raphael took a step back, and near the other side of the landing, he spotted Donatello putting his bo staff out toward Michelangelo, giving him another handhold as he climbed back over the railing, back on firm concrete as—

A dark blur leaped out of the flames, tackling Raphael and sending them both sliding backwards along the floor so that Raphael's helmet thunked against the wall. The blur lay for a moment beside him, panting for breath and groaning in a reassuringly familiar voice.

"Ow..." Raphael grunted, pushing himself up.

Leonardo started moving, and Raphael instinctively gripped tight as it started to slide away.

"Oh no you don't," Raphael said. "You lousy little thief..."

A sharp gasp, and Leonardo's head snapped up, his eyes growing wide enough to reflect the fire creeping up the far wall.

"What are you...?" Leonardo breathed, shaking his head slowly. "No—no no no—you can't be here. You can't—"

"We're all here, Einstein," Raphael said, growling as he stood and hauled Leonardo up with him. "Jesus, ditch the scarf, yer on fire."

With effort and using all of his weight, Leonardo pushed away from him, staggering against the wall. The scarf fell around his shoulders, the edges of cloth smoldering and trailing flames along the edge, and Raphael straightened in shock.

Leonardo was limping from a wound through his thigh, only a few inches above his knee. He'd wrapped it, but the narrow blood stain seeping through the bandage was obvious. He also had bandages around his shoulder and bicep, plus a splint around that same forearm and wrist. Sprained if not outright broken.

"Leo—"

"No!" Leonardo grabbed Raphael, trying to see through the helmet. "You have to get out of here, you all have to get out—"

The catwalk groaned and shuddered once, bending at a sharp angle where Michelangelo's flashgrenade had exploded. The way it leaned hard to one side wrenched at the moorings in the ceiling, pulling the catwalk several degrees to the side and sending a burning man down into the flames. The whole of the floor now rumbled like a drumroll as the fire found fuel to burn even around concrete, inching its way up the wiring toward the catwalk.

"Sure," Raphael said, closing his hand tight around Leonardo's good wrist as his brother leaned back. "And you're coming with us."

"I—"

Yelping, Leonardo bent and fell to one knee, grimacing as his wounded leg buckled. Raphael went down with him, putting an arm around his shell to hold him up as Leonardo leaned on him.

"What the hell happened to you?" Raphael said, pulling Leonardo farther toward the stairs, away from the gang. "We heard you got shot."

"Heard from who?" Leonardo grumbled as he self-consciously pulled the scarf across his body, hiding the injuries and making them that much more obvious. He tore off the smoldering edges before he started to burn.

"Doesn't matter," Raphael said. "You obviously are. Was that shot straight through?"

"That isn't—," he said, then bit off his curse. He didn't have time to yell at his brother. "Okay, listen—there was a theft of mutagen—"

"You mean you stole—"

"I didn't steal it!" Leonardo snapped. "I wouldn't have—gah, whatever. I tracked it down to here, but this is what they've been angling for this whole time."

"What, the mutagen?"

"That, and other things." Leonardo waved his hand as if motioning toward all the thefts he'd managed. "It wasn't everything—the comic, the book, those weren't important, but the necklace, the skull in that ball thing that April had—"

The floor tilted wildly, canting in toward the center. Raphael went to one knee, then yelled as he felt himself sliding. Worse, Leonardo had nothing to catch onto except his brother, trying to brace himself against the wall and only slowing his descent as the steel floor bent further.

"Hold on!"

Raphael slung his chain out, catching the far stair railing at the very end. He pulled, but he couldn't lift both himself and Leonardo with just one arm.

"Fire must be warping the steel," he muttered. "Leo, you're gonna have to climb up over me."

Leonardo was looking down at the twisted wreck of steel still dipping in the middle. On the far wall, Michelangelo and Donatello both clung to either side of a broad window, the glass broken out to make a clear foothold for them. And all along the center of the floor, splashed up on the wall and ceiling, so neon purple that it stood out even in the fire light, a streak of what was so clearly mutagen.

"Oh shit." Raphael looked down at the mass of Diablo Puerto gang members, all of them down in the fire and yet still moving, no longer shrieking from burns but from changing into something that could withstand those flames.

"Raph, let go."

Raphael looked down and saw that not only had Leonardo turned on his shell, he'd also flipped a knife into his bad hand. Leonardo glanced up at him, nodding with more confidence than he had any right to fell.

"Trust me," Leonardo said. "I have to get up on the roof."

"What?" Raphael said. "Anything up there's gonna burn up anyway—"

"The fire won't be fast enough," Leonardo said. "Please, Raph—"

"You're hurt!" Raphael yelled, trying to pull him up and snarling when he couldn't.

Leonardo stared down at the pit of what had become large, writhing snakes, filling the bottom floor with black shadows and red flame. Swallowing once, he looked up at his brother and forced a wan smile.

"Make up your mind," Leonardo said, giving a sad laugh. "I thought you wanted me to be a leader."

Raphael stared at him, or at least he seemed to, with the fire light playing off of his helmet. Cut off from them by the flames, Michelangelo smashed the window completely, clearing a way for himself and Donatello. Behind him, the chain jerked as the railing started to slip. Raphael was out of choices.

"You better make that jump," Raphael said.

Not answering, Leonardo just gave him a simple nod and faced the widening crevice between him and the far wall.

With a strangled, frustrated curse, Raphael let go.

Instead of a jump, Leonardo let himself slide toward the flames.


End file.
